


Stray

by LemonadeGarden



Category: Batman (Comics), Catwoman (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Home Renovation, Identity Porn, Kind of slow burn but not really, Lots of Cats, PTSD, Romance, Stray AU, alternating povs, in which selina adopts a bunch of kids and also a sad twenty five year old billionaire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonadeGarden/pseuds/LemonadeGarden
Summary: Despite being chased after by the cops, the mafia, and Batman all at once, Selina somehow manages to take in four little boys. Also, Bruce Wayne starts showing up every once in a while to help her fix up her apartment.Then again, she never claimed that her life was normal.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostboyinqueens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostboyinqueens/gifts).



> Hey everyone! So I'm aware that writing a Stray AU is probably not very original at this point, and there may not be anything new or revolutionary that I can add to it, other than the fact that it's me writing it, I guess? I did very much enjoy playing with the concept though, and the seemingly infinite possibilities a divergence like this in canon would have. 
> 
> Mostly though, I wrote it for Lauren, my first ever online friend.  
> I'm gonna try to make it just like you want it <3

On the beach, close to sunset, a dog runs  
toward us fast, agitated, perhaps feral,  
scrounging for anything he can eat.  
We pull the children close and let him pass.

 _Is there such a thing as a stray child?_ Simon asks.  
_Like if a mother had a child from her body_  
_but then decided she wanted to be a different child’s mother,_  
_what would happen to that first child?_

The dog finds a satisfying scrap and calms.  
The boys break free and leap from rock to rock.  
_I was a stray man before I met your mother,_  
_you say,_ but they have run on and cannot hear you.

How fast they run on, past the dark pool  
your voice makes, our arms which hold them back.  
_I was a stray man before I met you,_  
you say. This time you are speaking to me.

— _Stray,_ by Elizabeth Alexander (1962)

 

**1.**

 

He watched the boy's parents fall. That was how it all began.  
They fell, and then there was a great deal screaming and raised voices, and afterwards, the sound of sirens. All the while, the little boy was frozen there, in the centre of the ring. He looked like an exhibit at the zoo, almost, to be gawked at and prodded.

He remembered that feeling.

He walked towards him. Knelt down by him, so close that there was blood staining through the knees of his pants. “Hello,” he said, his voice low, “My name is Bruce.”

 

*

 

The man in the leather jacket looked at her, wide-eyed. “Who?” he said.

Selina suppressed the urge to shake him by the shoulders. She looked over her shoulder. They were coming. “Catwoman. I _told_ you."

"That's your _real_ name?" He said, looking skeptical.

Selina sighed. She was quickly losing her patience. "Obviously not, you idiot. Like I said, I _need_ to borrow your bike. It's urgent.”

The man opened his mouth, closed it again. He looked not unlike a goldfish. His fist clenched the handle of his bike protectively.  
They were on a busy square, on a sunny Saturday morning, and three black SUVs were hot on her tail. She could see them coming up. The men in the cars did not look pleased, to say the least. And they had guns. She heard a warning gunshot, and then screaming.  
God, Selina was tired.

“Listen, I'll have it delivered back to you by the end of the week. I swear. Just give it to me.” Selina said.

“No!” The man said. He was looking behind her with wide eyes. Selina turned. A man with a semi-automatic strapped to his back was getting out of the SUV. Shit.

Selina turned back around and glared at him. “My ankle,” she hissed, “is broken. I just stole the largest diamond ring this side of the Atlantic Ocean. There are two different mafias that want me dead, and the GCPD and Batman both want me in prison. My sister called me up yesterday crying because apparently I'm _straying from the light of God_ , so I had to deal with _that_ phone call. And there’s a stupid goddamn circus in my neighborhood that's been playing loud music _all_ night and I haven't gotten _any_ sleep. I am _not_ in the mood right now. So give. Me. _The bike._ ”

The man swallowed again. There were people watching, now. “No,” he said again, his voice a little weaker.

“Oh for the _love of God,_ ” Selina muttered, wrenching it out of his grip. She elbowed his face, effectively muffling his protests, and twisted around, with a right hook to his jaw. He crumpled to the floor, and she limped towards his bike. Most people around them were just watching, frozen in shock.

“Asshole,” she muttered, as she sped off through the square, weaving in and out of traffic, and dodging pedestrians. A stray bullet or two whizzed past her, and she ducked, sighing. The diamond ring was secure in her pouch.

She needed some fucking sleep.

 

*

 

She limped through the narrow alleyway towards her apartment, her arm dangling uselessly. In the chase, one of the idiots brandishing machine guns had gotten lucky and shot her shoulder. It hurt like hell. She hobbled over a pothole, pressing her lips together. It felt like her foot was on fire.

 _I can't in good grace, watch you lead a sinful life anymore,_ her sister had said on the phone, last night. Selina had had to cover her other ear to hear her properly. The circus had been making one hell of a racket.

“You don't have to fucking watch me,” Selina muttered now. Maggie seemed to have forgotten all the shit Selina had done to keep food in their stomachs, when they were growing up. The shit they'd _both_ had to do.

She paused for a breath, closing her eyes. It was possible she had overestimated her ability to be able to walk after breaking an ankle and getting shot at repeatedly. She found herself wishing she hadn't dumped the bike near the docks.  
She took another ragged breath, as a shard of pain sliced through her foot. She braced herself, pushing her gloved palm flat against the wall. She was just going to sit down for a while. Just a little while. In the alleyway.

 _Look what you've come to_ , Maggie said, crouching next to her. She was in a pristine nun’s habit. Her face was serene, but stern. She looked like that statue of Saint Teresa that the orphanage used to have. Calm. At peace. It used to be near Sister Linda's office; she'd have to go there whenever she got into trouble, and sister Linda would give her five sharp raps on the back of her hands with her wooden cane, that crazy psycho bitch.  
Soon enough, Selina had started associating Saint Teresa's face with the pain on her knuckles.

Selina started laughing, despite herself. She was still clutching at her shoulder, and her hand was coming back wet, now. Wet with blood.

 _You’re crouched in a dank corner of a terrible neighborhood, and you're broken,_ Maggie said, her Saint Teresa face on, looking all reverent and forlorn for her sake, _Look at you, Selina. You're just broken and it's so goddamn sad._

Selina smiled then. It was all in her head. Maggie would never swear. Not Saint Magdalena. It was too beneath her.  
“Get off your fucking high horse, Maggie,” she mumbled, sliding down the wall, until she fell.

 

Someone was shaking her. Someone little. “Hey miss, you need to get up,” the voice was saying. It was a child's voice.

Selina squinted, trying to sit up a little. “Mags?” she mumbled.

“Huh?” the voice said.

Selina opened her eyes, blinking slowly. The light had changed. It looked like mid afternoon, now. Shit. _Shit_. She'd passed out.

She looked around, trying to figure out where she was. It was the same alleyway, except now she could hear police sirens. _Shit._

There was a wide-eyed little boy crouched down next to her, obvious concern on his face. He had a mop of dark, curly hair, and bright blue eyes. And he was wearing something that looked like… a circus costume.

“Are you okay, miss?” The little boy said.

Selina ran a hand over her face. “You hear that too?” She said, “The sirens?”

The boy nodded quickly, his eyes getting wider. “Are they looking for you?” he said.

Selina thought about lying. “Look, I–”

“I think they may be after me,” The boy said, his voice hushed. His eyes were even wider now, if that was possible.

Selina blinked. “What?” She said.

“Please,” The boy whisper, grabbing her hand. He didn't even notice it was wet with blood. “Please, you have to help me.”

She cleared her throat, pulling her hand free from him grip. “Look kid, just go back home, okay? No one would send five police cruisers after one kid.”

They're after me, not you, She thought of saying. She shook her head instead, getting to her feet slowly. “Go back home to your family. I have to get going.”

The boy's lower lip trembled. “I don't have a home anymore,” he said, his voice small.

Selina stared. “I don't–”

The boy burst into tears.

Selina sighed, trying to awkwardly pat his shoulder a little, except she was only getting blood all over him, so she stopped. “Okay, okay, little boy, I'm sorry, alright?"

He just shook his head, his shoulders hunched and shaking.  

"Oh Jesus, you can come with me, just– just, you know. Please stop crying.” Selina said, staring at him, horrified. 

The boy sniffled, rubbing at his eyes, “Really?” he said.

Selina rubbed at her brow. “Yes, really. And also because I need help walking home.” she said.

The boy's smile was watery. He had little dimples, one on each cheek. “Thanks. I'm Dick, by the way.”

“God,” Selina said, groaning as she started walking, “I'm sorry, kid.”

“It's okay,” Dick said, his smile becoming bigger, “I like it! I don't like being called Richard. It sounds like an old man's name, you know?”

“Sure,” Selina said, inhaling sharply as she tried putting some weight on her ankle. That was a bad idea.

“Let me help!” Dick said, scurrying over to her other side and putting her arm around him. “Here, you can lean on me.”

“Um, thanks,” Selina said. She leaned out from behind the alleyway, and quickly ducked back in. There was a squad car right outside. Dammit.

She rapidly removed her goggles and mask, and shoved them into her pouch. She had to think fast. “Dick?” She said.

“Uh huh?”

“You need to do me a favor, okay? There's a Goodwill a block from here, over by that end,” she said, pointing. Then she started rummaging in her pouch again, until she found two crumpled twenties. “Go buy me a dress. It doesn't matter how it looks, just make sure it'd fit me. I'm a size small. And…” she paused, looking at him, “is that a circus costume?”

Dick nodded, and suddenly his lower lip was trembling again.

Selina quickly took out another twenty from the pouch. “Here,” she said, giving it to him. “Go buy some clothes for yourself. I'm going to wait here, okay?”

Dick peeked out of the alleyway, looking at the squad car that was standing by. “But they're going to find me,” he said, his voice small.

“Dick,” Selina said, slowly, “I don't think they're looking for you.”

“They are! I ran away and–,” Dick sniffled, “they just are, okay? I know it.”

“No, they're not,” Selina said. She hesitated, “Children in Gotham go missing all the time. No one sends squad cars after them. Trust me, I'd know.”

Dick looked at her, wide eyed. “You mean, the man in the suit, he doesn't– he doesn't want me any more?”

“Which man?” Selina said, feeling lost.

“The nice man in the nice suit! I for– I forgot his name, but he said he'd seen it happen before, and it'd happened to him and he was going to take care of me now, and then I heard the police sirens and,” Dick paused, looking forlorn, “and I got scared and–and I ran away.”

Selina rubbed at her brow for a second. “Dick, I don't know what you're talking about. Here's my deal, okay? You get the clothes, and I'll get you away from the cops. Then we'll go find your parents, or,” Selina added, when she saw his face beginning to crumple, “that nice man, okay?”

“Okay,” Dick said, his voice small. Then he squared his tiny shoulders, a look of determination on his face. “I'll help you, catlady!”

Selina smiled, but just a little. “Selina. My name is Selina.”

Dick grinned a toothy grin. “I'm going to help you, Selina.” he said, and then scampered off, out of the alleyway. 

 

*

 

They reached her apartment after a long and painful walk. Selina bit her lip, climbing the last flight of stairs. God, it was like someone had stuck a rusty knife deep into her ankle.

Dick was trailing after her, a concerned look on his face. “You okay, Selina?” he said, for only the hundredth time.

“I will be,” Selina said, gritting her teeth, “once I'm not fu– freaking walking anymore.”

“Okay!” Dick said, skipping the steps two at a time. He was wearing the brightest blue shirt Selina had seen in a long time, coupled with silver hammer pants. In hindsight, it had not been the best idea to send him clothes shopping. The boy had… a _unique_ sense of fashion.

“We're supposed to blend in, not stand out,” She'd hissed at him, when he'd come back wearing those clothes.

“Oh,” Dick said, “I just really liked those. No one's let me shop for myself before,” he said. His blue shirt had little tassels on it, for Chrissake.

“I can see why,” Selina said, “you look like the 80’s hip hop scene threw you up.”

“Is that a good thing?” Dick asked, sounding hopeful.

“No,” Selina said, “absolutely not. Where's my dress?”

“Oh!” Dick said, rummaging inside a little plastic bag, “here. I didn't know if you'd like it but,” he held up a dress. It was a little wrinkled, and the sleeves looked too long but it was… pretty. Floral. Not really Selina's thing.

“I don't know what ladies like,” Dick admitted, “but my mom, she wears dresses like these. _Wore_ dresses like these, I mean,” He said, his brow scrunched up.

Selina took it from him, slowly. Carefully, so she wouldn't get any blood on it. “It's fine,” she said. She didn't ask any questions.

Dick had nodded jerkily, and that had been that. And now they were in her apartment. And her leg was about to give out from under her. 

Selina sat down on the couch, leaning back until she was staring at the ceiling. “I can't do this anymore,” she said. Maggie had been right. It was a shit life.

“What?” Dick was walking around, looking at things. Her apartment was tiny– it had one bedroom, a shower, and a kitchenette attached. And a tiny broom closet of a hall.

“Nothing,” Selina said, sitting back up, “come here.”

Dick walked over to her, sitting down on the couch.

“Are you hurt?” Selina said, taking off her boot slowly. If she stayed really still, and she tried not to move her foot, maybe–

“Fuck!” She yelled, squeezing her eyes shut. Oh god oh god _oh god._

“Uh, maybe you should see a doctor,” Dick said, sounding scared.

Selina shook her head. “No, no doctors,” she said, gasping, “I need a splint. Dick, there's a med kit under my bed. Go get it.”

She heard rapid scurrying of feet, and then the sound of something scraping against the floor. “What does a splint look like?” he yelled from the bedroom.

“Just get the whole kit,” She yelled back.

Dick rushed back with the whole kit. “Do I– should I, I don't know what to do,” he said, looking nervous.

Selina shook her head. “You don't have to do anything,” she said, opening the kit. She took out a splint and some gauze, and took a deep breath.

“Stop being afraid,” She muttered. “Come on. Come on come on _come on.”_

She thought, irrationally, of that statue of Saint Teresa. That awful serene face. And now her knuckles were hurting too, because she was one of those Pavlovian dogs, was what she was. Shit. 

“Fuck it,” she said. Then she grabbed her ankle. The pain was unspeakable, but she got the splint lined up, and then she started wrapping the bandages around it. She was crying, she realized, taking large, gulping breaths, and crying.

Dick looked terrified.

She wrapped the bandage around her ankle one last time, tying it as tight as she possibly could.

“Okay,” she said, breathing hard. “Okay.”

Now, onto her shoulder. She pushed down one of the straps of the dress, twisting to see the gunshot wound. The bleeding had largely stopped, but she was going to have to fish the bullet out.

“Dick, there's a bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge. Can you reach it?” she asked, wiping at her face.

Dick walked towards the fridge, his eyes on her the whole time, like he was afraid she was going to bleed to death if he looked away.

“Dick!” she snapped, and he blinked, almost like he was waking out of a trance.

“Whiskey,” he said, “right. Is it that big glass bottle with the black cap?”

Selina nodded. She fumbled through the med kit, looking for a pair of tweezers. “Can you climb the counter?”

Dick nodded. “I can climb almost anything,” he said. He pulled himself up onto the counter, and then stood on his toes, grabbing the bottle of Jack. He leapt off the counter and onto the couch in two bounds, handing it to her.

“Are you–” she paused, opening the bottle with her teeth, “are you an acrobat?”

Dick nodded.

Selina splashed some of the whiskey on her shoulder, gritting her teeth. “Shit,” She said, trying not to yell. It was possible she was raising her voice, just a little. “Shit, shit, _shit_.”

She splashed some of the whiskey on the tweezers too, just in case. She brought the tweezers close to the hole, and then stopped. God, it was going to hurt so much.

“Come on, you fucking coward,” she muttered herself. To Dick, she said, “you might want to look somewhere else.”

When Dick didn't move, she pointed to the window. “Go look at the traffic outside,” she said.

Dick hesitated, and then went to the window.

She took a few quick breaths, and grabbed the tweezers. And she dug the bullet out of her shoulder, swearing like a sailor the whole time. Dick was standing at the window, but he'd turned his head, and he was staring at her, wide-eyed.

She leaned back on the couch, and closed her eyes. The bullet dropped to the floor with an almost soundless clink.

There was a silence.

“I'm really sorry,” she said, after a while, “that you had to see all that.”

The couch dipped, as Dick sat next to her. There was a longer silence.

“It's okay,” he said, faintly, “it's not the worst thing I've seen today.”

Selina opened her eyes, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

Dick pressed up against the corner of the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest. Then he wrapped his arms around them, trying to draw them in tighter. It almost looked like he wanted to make himself as small as possible. Like he wanted to disappear.

Then he looked at her.

“My parents died,” he said. “I think it was in the morning. I saw them.”

Selina looked at him. “What?” she said.

“I saw them fall,” he said, and he was crying again, “I saw their– you know, their heads smash against the ground. There were– there were parts of their _brains_ on my shoes.”

Selina sat up. “At the circus?” she said, very quietly.

Dick nodded. He was still curled up in the very corner of the couch. He was crying so quietly now that she could only see his shoulders shake.

“They were trapeze artists. They never used a net. They were that good.”

“Did they fall?” Selina said, even quieter.

Dick shook his head. “No,” he said, hiccupping, “no, they _wouldn't_. Someone messed with the rope.”

Selina got off the couch, and crouched next to Dick, careful not the put any weight on her bad ankle.  
“Dick,” she said, her voice low, “how old are you?”

Dick looked at her, peeking over his knees. His eyes were red and swollen. “I'm ten years old.”

“Well then,” Selina said, her voice soft, “you're a big boy. And you're old enough to know that you need to tell someone about it, right? The–”

“The nice man in the suit?” Dick said, hopefully. “I forgot his name, but he was really tall. And big. He looked like he could punch whoever messed with the rope.”

Selina paused. “I don't know who that is, Dick.” she said. “I think he might just have been a bystander. Not much he could do in a situation like that.”

“Don't take me to the police,” Dick said, frowning, “they can't be good guys, if they came after you.”

Selina was silent. After a moment, she tilted her head, and smiled at Dick. “How do you feel about eating something?” she said.

She cooked him dinner, chicken parm and some crackers that she found in her cupboard. Then she scooped him up from the couch, limping to the bedroom.  
Dick put her arms around her automatically, making a sleepy sound, and she had to blink hard. It just reminded her of Maggie, was all.

“I have a friend,” She whispered into his hair, soft and curly against her cheek, “I'm going to talk to him, okay? I trust him more than the cops. You sleep here, while I go find him.”

“Okay,” Dick said, sleepily, pressing his face into her neck.

Selina paused, for a moment. Touched his hair. “Okay,” She said, setting him down in her bed. The room was dark, and cool. She put the covers around him.

She was closing the door to the bedroom when he spoke. 

"Um, Selina?"

Selina paused.  

"Do you– do you think we should say a prayer for my parents, or something?"

Selina blinked, frozen. "A prayer?"

She could see Dick nod. 

"Do you want to?"

In the darkness of the room, Dick's silhouette looked very small. "I don't know," he said, sounding unsure, "maybe it's the right thing to do."

"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "We'll–we'll say one together, okay?"

She walked back to him and knelt awkwardly by the bed, kneeling heavier on her uninjured leg. She clasped her hands together.

Dick was looking uncertain. "We never really did this. I don't know what to say."

"Um, you just have to talk," Selina said. She still felt frozen. 

Dick screwed up his face. "Dear God," he said, "My parents are with you now so please take care of them in heaven and tell them that I love them a lot and I miss them. Amen."

"Amen," Selina whispered.  

Dick was still frowning. "Did I mess it up? I don't know the right words. Maybe I should have said _Father_ instead of–"

"You didn't mess it up," Selina said, quietly. 

"Oh," Dick said. He lay back down. "Good night, Selina."

"Good night," Selina said. Then she got up and left the room. Clicked the door shut quietly behind her. 

A million times. She'd done this a million times for Maggie, when Mom was passed out in the kitchen, or too drunk to walk. She'd tucked her little sister in, and read the fairytales, and sang the songs. Said the prayer. 

_I can't in good grace, watch you lead a sinful life anymore._

Selina found herself blinking back tears. She sat down in the hall, her back against the door to her bedroom. The one where a little ten year old was sleeping. 

This was a goddamn mess.

 

*

 

“You're hurt,” he said.

Selina shook her head. “How do you do it?” she said, taking her goggles off. “How can you tell I'm injured from two rooftops away?”

“I'm not two rooftops away,” Batman said. “I'm right here.”

Selina's mouth quirked up, “Right. But you _could_ tell from when you were two rooftops away.”

Batman was silent, so she guessed she'd got him there.

“Let me guess,” she said, sitting on the ledge of the terrace to take the weight off her leg, “you studied under some hermit monk in Singapore, and he taught you a secret incantation so you'd know when any of your enemies had sustained injuries.”

Batman walked until he was in front of her. She looked up at him. He was looming threateningly. Or trying to. “There are no hermits in Singapore,” he said.

“Oh yeah? What is there in Singapore?”

“A Universal Studios,” he said, and she laughed.

“I'm not scared of you, you know,” Selina said. “I know you won't hurt me.”

Batman grunted. “You're wanted by several different groups, Catwoman. Stealing O’neill's diamond ring was a foolish move. I'd advise you to be more careful, when it comes to your… night time appearances.”

“ _Several_ groups? You really know how to flatter a girl,” Selina said, smiling. She reached up to put a hand on his arm. “What about you? Do _you_ want me, Bat? I'm starting to feel special.”

Batman looked unimpressed. “Cut the shit. You've disrespected a lot of crime families, Catwoman. You're wanted. Badly injured. Things don't look good for you.”

Selina grabbed a fistful of his cape, and tugged. Batman didn't budge.  
Selina sighed. “Alright. Come sit down,” she said, "I can't really stand, anyway. I need your help, okay?”

That got Batman's attention. She knew it would. He hesitated, and then sat next to her.  
“What is it?” he said.

“There's a boy. He's only ten. Name's Dick. Richard, I think. He was in the circus, and he saw his parents–”

“Fall to their deaths,” Batman said.

Selina looked at him, surprised. “You know about this,” she said.

Batman’s eyes were flat and white through the lenses. “He's been reported missing. Richard Grayson. Son of John and Mary Grayson. Recently deceased.”

“The kid told me they didn't fall,” she said, “he told me someone tampered with the ropes.”

“I know,” Batman said.

Selina tilted her head, “you do?”

“Yes,” Batman said. “Is he at your place right now?”

“You can't take him,” Selina said, and then frowned. “Right now, I mean. He's asleep. You should come pick him up in the morning.”

Batman gave her a long look. “I know you won't go to the police,” he said, “Finger tower. Nine AM, tomorrow morning. I'll be there. Bring the kid.”

“If you're not, and there's some two-bit corrupt cop there instead, I'm not handing him over,” Selina said, her voice a tight thread of steel. “You understand?”

Batman nodded. “I'll be there,” he said.

“Okay,” Selina said. She paused. “He's a good kid. You'll make sure he gets a good home?”

“Yes,” Batman said.

“Okay,” Selina said, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

He was going to be just fine. She didn't know why she cared anyway. She had plenty of other problems right now, and a little boy was  _not_ going to be another one of them.  

“Let me see your leg,” Batman said.

“What?”

Batman hesitated, and she swore she could see him blush a little. “You're hurt,” he said, his voice gruff, “let me look at your leg.”

Selina shrugged, pulling off her boot. It hurt less now that she was on enough painkillers to knock out a horse.   
“I think it's broken,” she said. “my ankle.”

Batman crouched down next to her foot, putting his fingers gently on the splint.

“Hey, be _careful_!” Selina said, even though it hadn't hurt.

“It's not broken,” Batman said, “your ligament is torn. Ice pack and no weight on your feet for at least two weeks.”

“Oh,” Selina said, “Well, now I feel stupid. Thanks, Bat.”

Batman grunted. He was unwrapping the bandage deftly, and took the splint off. He touched her bare skin, just a brush of his gloves against her calf. It was only for a second, but she still looked at him, a little surprised. 

“Stay off that leg,” he said, clearing his throat. “And away from the crime families. I mean it, Catwoman.”

“Well, if you _mean_ it,” Selina said, smiling. Batman didn't say anything to that either. It was a good feeling, being able to render him speechless.

“Finger tower,” he grunted, “tomorrow morning. Be there,” he said.

Then he was gone.

 

*

 

She made eggs in the morning. Sunny side up.

“I hope you're not a vegetarian,” she said to Dick, sliding the plate to him. He was still in his Goodwill clothes.

“I didn't have any clothes for you, so I went and bought these,” she said, laying out a tee shirt and pants for him. “The size should be okay.”

Dick looked at them. He was sitting at her tiny table, his legs dangling off of the extra chair she had. He was looking around a little apprehensively, at the peeling linoleum floors and the cheap plywood furniture. She really needed to move out. 

“Are you going to take me to the police station now?” he said, his voice small.

Selina shook her head, pouring out some orange juice for him. She'd stolen it from a Walmart at three in the morning, along with his clothes.

“I'm taking you to my friend,” she said, “remember the one I told you about?”

“Uh huh,” Dick said.

Selina paused. “You're not from around here, are you? I can tell – you don't have the accent.”

“We didn't really stay in one place for long,” he said, his mouth full of eggs.

“That might make the paperwork difficult. A few extra steps,” she said, thinking. “Any idea who your next of kin would be?”

Dick shook his head. “We don't have any family,” he said. “Mom and Dad used to say the circus _was_ family.”

His voice wavered a little on that last word.

Selina nodded. “I don't really have any family either. Not really.”

She remembered Maggie praying in that small room they'd had in the orphanage, two weeks after their mother had died. Remembered her kneeling by the bed, her elbows on the mattress, her eyes squeezed shut. 

“Dick,” Selina said, her voice soft, “do you know who the Batman is?”

 

*

 

Before they went to Finger tower, they made a short detour to a Mr. Zucco's house.

“You know what a mob enforcer does?” Selina said, holding Dick's hand as she limped across the street, across to Zucco's apartment building.

Dick shook his head. He was in his new clothes now, and Selina was in a black dress. They stopped in front of the cross-walk.

“A mob enforcer,” Selina said, “is a man that harms people when they don't do what the mob tells them to do.”

“Oh,” Dick said.

The pedestrian crossing turned green. They walked across the road. “Let's say there's a new circus in town,” Selina said, “and they're doing well. Really well. Except here's the thing – this is Gotham City they're in, and to survive, they have to pay protection money. Either to the Irish, or the Italians. It's up to them.”

“But one day, the owner of the circus gets too bold, and decides that hey, he doesn't want to give a quarter of his ticket sales to the Italians. He doesn't want to give them to the Irish either. Why should he? No one should be able to take away his hard-earned money. So that's when the mob calls up their enforcer, Dick. And then an accident takes place at the circus, one that's bad enough to convince the owner that perhaps he does need protection, after all.”

They walked into the apartment building, and Selina smiled at the doorman. It was a fancy place.

“Mr. Anthony Zucco, please,” she said to him, “seventh floor. He's expecting me.”

They got into the lift. She was still holding Dick's hand. Tight.

“A mob enforcer can also be used for other things,” She continued. “Let's take the example of a petty thief. She's only seventeen, and the orphanage she lives in is burned down to the ground. She doesn't want to be sent somewhere else, so she empties the cash register from her job at the local supermarket, and she takes her little fourteen year old sister and they go rent a place in the Narrows. It's a real shithole, but they get by. She robs people, and jewellery stores sometimes. Mostly people though. Her sister pretends not to know, but it's putting food on their table, so she doesn't put a stop to it.”

“Now this seventeen year old girl starts getting really good at what she does. She gets older, and she gets even better. She moves out of the awful apartment in the Narrows, to a slightly less awful apartment in the East End. People start hiring her to do jobs. Museums, art galleries, penthouses, even a bank or two. Her sister drops out of school, and tells her that she's going to become a nun.”

Selina laughed, “An actual _nun_ , if you can believe that. Then one day, the Italian mafia finds out about this girl’s unique set of skills. They find out about how she's supposed to be the best. And they tell her that she must rob the Irish mafia's boss's diamond ring, to settle an old score or something like that, or they're going to find her little sister, and they're going to make their mob enforcer drag her outside the church and put a bullet in her head.”

Dick was looking at her with wide eyes. The lift doors opened. They stepped out onto the seventh floor.

“I did some research last night, while you were asleep. Asked around,” Selina says, quietly, “and I found a certain mob enforcer’s address. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Dick?”

Dick nodded.

“Remember when I asked you if you knew who Batman was?” Selina said.

“Yeah,” Dick said, “and I said of course I knew. I don't live under a rock.”

“No,” Selina said, “you most certainly do not.” They came to a stop outside Mr. Zucco's apartment. Selina looked at her watch. “I was supposed to meet Batman at nine in the morning, at Finger Tower. It's currently ten thirty.”

“So?” Dick said.

“So, Batman told me to do three things, last night. He said to stay off my leg, to stay away from the mafia, and to come with you to Finger Tower at nine. And I've just wholeheartedly disregarded all three things. And it won't take him long to figure out where we went. He's going to follow us, and take out Mr. Zucco for us.”

“How do you know that?” Dick said, his eyebrows raised.

“Because,” Selina said, “Mr. Zucco thinks I've come to his house to give him the diamond ring. And when he finds out that I haven't, he's going to try to kill me,” Selina tilted her head, when she saw Dick's eyes widen, “but that's not going to happen. Batman won't let him. You know why, Dick?”

“Uh, ‘cause he's a good guy?” Dick said.

Selina laughed. “Well. I suppose. But mainly it's because he has a little bit of a crush on me.”

She rang the door bell. The door opened.

Selina smiled. “Hello," she said, to the burly looking bodyguard type who'd opened the door, "Is Mr. Zucco here? Tell him Selina Kyle has something for him." 

 

*

 

Batman entered the building shortly after Zucco pulled the gun on her.

After that, the whole thing was over in fifteen minutes.

Dick and Selina sat outside the apartment, waiting for Batman.

“Can we go get some ice cream?” Dick said.

“Sure,” Selina said.

There was a silence. It was mostly comfortable, punctuated occasionally with the sounds of fists against flesh. They listened, idly.

“You're really calm about this whole thing,” Selina said. “Aren't you only ten?”

Dick nodded. “I told you,” he said, “I've seen worse things.”

A silence.

“Hey, Selina?”

“Mm?”

“How old are you?” Dick asked.

Selina looked at him. “I'm twenty three.”

Dick fidgeted with his hands a little. “Can I stay with you, just for a little while?” he asked.

Selina was quiet. Then, “you sure you want to?”

Dick nodded.

“Okay,” Selina said, after a while. She took out the diamond ring she'd stolen from her pouch. Biggest cut diamond this side of the Atlantic. She smiled.

“We're going to need to buy a bigger apartment, though,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Friday!


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew this one got long, folks!

 

Bruce woke up in the greenhouse, in the middle of the night, when he fell.

He was sprawled on the floor, mud on his hands, a potted sapling knocked over him. He lay there for a while, looking up at the glass roof. He must have had a nightmare and fallen off the bench. There was a smudge on one of the panels, mud or birdshit or a dead insect– one of them. A dark smudge.  

He squinted at it, sitting up. Couldn't really tell what it was. He remembered that he'd been looking at it last night. He'd fallen asleep like that, his head flat against the bench. It was only a smudge.

He walked back to the manor, striding through the lawns. He brushed the mud and dirt off of him before he entered again, taking the key out from little marble nook behind a pillar on the portico. Alfred usually left it out for occasions like this. 

He went to his bedroom, pulling off his shirt on the way there, and tossed it in the laundry.

_Inside the hamper, Master Bruce, not on it_ , Alfred used to say. Dad would snort, his eyes still on the newspaper he was reading. 

He still remembered that. He still remembered a lot of things, from before. Sometimes it felt like his memories were tangible things, wisps of soft fabric and tissue paper, things he could wrap his hand around. Sometimes they were more like thick cables of wire rope, each section made of a bundle of wires, razor-sharp and elusive.  

Things that could wrap themselves around his neck and… _pull_.

 

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was painted a spotless white. Pristine and immaculate.

Not a smudge to be found. 

 

*

 

The next morning Alfred woke him with breakfast.  

“Had a fun midnight escapade, I see.” Alfred nodded at the shirt and the tracks in the hamper.

Bruce didn't reply, sitting up and squinting at breakfast instead. Buttermilk crepes and strawberries. A mug of coffee.  

“Any engagements for today?” Alfred said, deftly picking up clothes and socks.

Bruce picked up the mug. “I have a meeting with the Erickson people at nine,” he said, “and a five of clock with the director of the Gotham Philharmonic. Something about charity. And patrol later, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Alfred said, his tone amiable.

Bruce narrowed his eyes.  

“Eat your breakfast, master Bruce,” Alfred said, sagely, “and try not to muddy the foyer floor coming in, the next time you sleepwalk.”

Bruce just shook his head, draining the cup.

He didn't sleepwalk, was the thing. He always remembered how he'd got to a place when he woke up in the morning. It was a conscious decision. He just had trouble explaining to people why it was a thing he did when he was fully in his senses.

Alfred had told him that once, when Bruce was only sixteen or seventeen, he'd found him asleep right at the edge of the lake by their property. 

He remembered being woken up, frantic hands shaking at his shoulders. Being yelled at by Alfred all the way home. Well, not yelled, not really. Alfred would never shout. He just found a way to chastise Bruce without ever having to raise his voice.  

“What were you doing there?” Alfred had asked finally, exasperated.  

The truth was simple. He hadn't been able to sleep all night, and he'd decided to go on a walk. Then he'd come across the lake, and his memories were steel cables again, and metal rods, and heavy concrete blocks, and they had trapped him in that day when his father had taken him there to teach him how to swim, and he'd spent the afternoon treading cool water under the hot summer sun. His father had held him aloft, just above the water, and he'd splashed and kicked wildly until he knew what to do, laughing madly the whole time.  

He stood by the lake then, briefly it crossed his mind that he could just step into the lake. Just fall in, and take a deep lungful of the cool murky water, and it would be done. As easy as that.  

Instead he sat there for a while. And then he slept.  

When Alfred asked Bruce what he'd been doing there, Bruce only shrugged.  

“I can't remember,” he lied. And the lie had stuck. 

  
  


That night, he stood in the fire escape of an apartment opposite from the building that Selina Kyle and Richard Grayson had recently moved into. And he watched them.  

He could see shadows in the window, two people sitting at the dinner table. He saw Selina reach over and wipe Dick’s chin with a napkin. She was laughing at something he had said. 

Bruce remembered how his mother would sit him down at the table in the Manor’s Kitchens and make him taste the deserts the caterers had brought in for the gala. A spoon of slightly burnt creme brulee in his mouth. A furrowed brow, and his mother laughing, much in the same way Selina had laughed.  _ Not great?  _ She would say, mirth in her eyes. Bruce would shake his head furiously.

Bruce watched the two of them now, a sharp pang of…  _ something,  _ in his chest. He didn’t know what. He had thought– he had thought, for some reason, that after that day in the circus, that he could have… _helped_ Dick. That he might come home with him, and Bruce would have made sure that Dick would never become like him, that he'd have some semblance of a normal childhood but–

Dick didn't even seem to remember him.

_ Bruce _ remembered. He remembered it as clear as day. He remembered how the sun had been in their eyes, and how it had been reflecting off the bright sequined outfits that the Graysons had been wearing. He remembered that he'd been wearing a gray suit and jade cufflinks. He'd been on a date, but she'd left right after it happened. 

He hadn't.  

He remembered walking up to Dick, and kneeling so he could look him in the eye. He remembered saying that he was going to take care of him, and Dick had looked up at him with those big glassy eyes, tears dripping down his face. Like he couldn't really hear what Bruce was saying at all. He remembered the sound of the sirens, loud and clear, and suddenly Dick's eyes had widened, like he'd just realized what was really going on, and then he had started breathing faster.  

"You need to slow down," Bruce had said, placing a hand on Dick's shoulder, "can you hear me, Dick? It's Dick Grayson, right? That's what the announcer said. You need to calm down."

It had been such a stupid thing to say. If someone had told him to calm down after he saw his parents get murdered he would have tried to hit them. But Bruce felt strangely out of it too, like he was only watching himself talk. He was a machine, working on autopilot.

Dick started hyperventilating then, looking around him with wide eyes. Bruce's hand was still on his shoulder. The sirens were getting louder.  

" _Dick_ ," Bruce whispered.

Dick looked at him, his eyebrows rushing together. Then he wrenched his shoulder free of his hand and ran.

 

After that, Bruce went to the police precinct.

"I'd like to report a missing child," he'd said, to a police officer at the desk.

The man looked up at him with blank eyes. "How long has he been missing?" he asked, his voice nasal and barely interested.

Bruce checked his wristwatch. "About twenty minutes, I think."

The police officer gave him a look. "Have you tried looking around for him?" he said. "Maybe he's at a friend's house. Check with his school."

Bruce frowned. "No. He's– I– I'm not his father."

The officer raised an eyebrow. "Then I suggest you leave it to his parents," he said.  

Bruce was silent, for a moment. Then he leaned across the desk, and grabbed the man by his collar.

"His parents are _dead_ , you fucking idiot. I suggest you start searching for him immediately, or he's going to end up the same way. Put a city-wide APB out, for all I care. He's hurt and lost and alone. Just do your job and _find_ him." He said, glaring.

The police officer was staring at him with wide eyes, when–

"Bruce?"

Bruce turned around to see Jim Gordon, who'd just walked out of his office. He was frowning. Bruce let the police office go.  

"Captain Gordon," he said.

Jim was looking between the two of them, his frown deepening. "Is there a problem?"

Bruce clenched his jaw. "Yes. There's a missing child. His name is Dick Gray–"

"He assaulted me!" The police officer next to Bruce cried out. "You can't–you can't _do that_! He assaulted a police officer!"

Jim sighed. "Mr. Wayne, let's talk in my office," he said.  

In the office, Jim explained that while the Grayson accident was truly unfortunate, they couldn't exactly pull any resources to find a single missing child. Gotham was a city of perpetual crime and chaos, and one lost boy was simply not enough to warrant a city-wide search.

"He's  _ lost,"  _ Bruce said, "and alone. Surely you must feel for him, you have children yourself, and–"

"Barbara and Jim junior," Gordon said quietly, "they're a little older than this boy."

Bruce leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. His head ached, and his throat felt too tight. Dick's eyes had looked _haunted_.

"Then you _know_ ," he said.

Gordon was looking down at the wood grain on the desk, keenly inspecting it.  

Bruce leaned forward again, suddenly. "Please, Jim. You're the only man I trust in this entire place to do the right thing. Ever since that night, you're the only cop I've ever known to be a good man."

He held that between them, that unspoken event. Gordon had been the one to find Bruce, sitting limply next to his parents, drenched in the rain.

Gordon looked pained.

"He's the same age I was, Jim," Bruce said, low.

There was a silence. A clock ticked distantly, perhaps from the break room.

"All right," Jim sighed, and Bruce exhaled in relief. "I'll put a detective on it.  _ One  _ detective, mind you."

"You're working with the Batman, aren't you?" Bruce pressed.

Jim looked guarded again. "Why do you ask?"

"Give him access to your databases. All your CCTV footage. I don't want _a_ detective on it, I want _him_."

Jim was starting to shake his head. "Mr. Wayne, I don't–"

"I read the newspapers," Bruce continued, "there's no case you've put in front of him that he hasn't solved yet, is there?"

Jim opened his mouth. "I'm not– we're not at liberty to disclose–, "

"There's not. Don't waste police officers on this. Just give Batman access to your resources."

Jim sighed. He took a long hard look at Bruce.  "What if we found this kid?" he asked, after a moment. "What then?"

Bruce blinked. "I'll make sure he finds a good home."

Gordon's eyebrow tilted sardonically, "And that home's with you, by any chance?"

Bruce shrugged. "I don't know," he lied, "I haven't thought that far."

Jim sighed. "Alright." he said, finally. 

"Really?" Bruce said, sitting up straight.

"Yes. We'll leave it to Batman. Give him CCTV footage in and around the neighborhood where the circus was located. They're packing up now, Haly's. Just waiting around to see if the little Grayson boy comes back. Otherwise they say they're leaving here and never coming back."

"I can see why," Bruce said, hollowly. In truth, his mind had already left the conversation, and he was thinking of all the roads, streets, subways and blocks where Dick could be hiding. _Leave no stone unturned,_ Ra's used to say, during their tracking lessons. _Follow your senses, your instincts, and only then listen to logic._

"Yes," Jim said, sounding exhausted. He had a decided slump to his shoulders as he looked out of the small window in his office, at the gray blustering mid-afternoon sky of Gotham. It made for a truly ugly sight. "I can see why too." 

 

In the end, Batman hadn't found Dick Grayson. Catwoman had.  

When he'd talked to her on the terrace that night, something about her seemed… different. She held herself differently, seemed more guarded, despite her usual indifferent veneer.  

He had found evidence of sabotage in the circus through Gordon's CCTV footage. Evidence of someone having tampered the nets, and all possible theories pointed to it being one of the mobs. 

And yet she knew something he didn't. He wondered if it was about that diamond ring. There was a chance that stealing it had been a decision where Selina Kyle had been influenced by the mob.

He sat in the cave after meeting her that night, thinking, puzzling the situation out. There were several moving pieces working out of phase. Pieces he was going to have to search for, and fit together.  

And something about meeting Selina Kyle always left him feeling slightly… _unsettled_. She wasn't quite like the others, not vile and insane like the Joker, not psychopathic like the Riddler. Not even a dangerous seductress, like Poison Ivy.

She was just… _different_.  

And it made him unsure of himself around her. He didn't enjoy that. Not at all.

 

The next morning, after he had finally put all the pieces together, he had run to Zucco's apartment complex, his heart in his mouth, his feet pounding on the concrete of the terraces that he was swinging across. He had been such an idiot, of course she wouldn't listen to him. 

She never listened.  

 

When he reached the flat, Selina Kyle was kneeling in the centre of the living room, a gun trained to her head. A cold shard of fear went through Bruce's chest.  

“Where's Dick?” he said, but Zucco was already turning around, already yelling for his guards. 

For a while after that, everything was a blur.

Sometimes, when he hurt people, he'd stop concentrating. It was a sick thing, almost like when he was driving and not thinking about doing it. He didn't want to get used to it— it had just happened.  He was thinking of Selina then, and of Dick, and when the fight was over and Zucco and his bodyguards were on the floor, he noticed that some time over the course of the fight, she'd slipped out of the flat. The door was half-open.  

He walked slowly, stepping over unconscious bodies and furniture that was tipped over. Opened the door.  

Selina and Dick were both sitting in the hallway outside. They looked up at him.  

“Hey, Bat,” Selina smirked, “sorry I was late.”

Bruce stared at her in disbelief. “You could have been _shot_ ,” he said.  

Selina shrugged. “But I wasn't. I knew you'd come.”

“The _boy_ could have been shot.”

Selina's smile faded. “No, he wouldn't have been. I made him wait in the stairwell. Told him to run and call 911 if he heard anything.”

Bruce clenched his jaw. “And what if they'd found him? And what if they'd shot him?”

“They wouldn't have. I told you, I _knew_ you'd come.”

Bruce lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and then remembered that he was wearing the cowl. He dropped his hand.  

“This was highly irresponsible,” he said, finally, “you placed yourself and a little boy in danger for no specific reason other than an ill-begotten vendetta.”

Selina scowled, rising to her feet. “ _Ill-begotten_? That man in there _murdered_ his parents, did you know that? He made–”

“I am _aware_ ,” Bruce said, “of what he did. I had looked into it. There were other ways of dealing with the situation.”

Selina was still scowling. “Fuck you. My way was the fastest.”

Bruce closed his eyes. "You're swearing in front of a ten year old."

"It's okay!" Dick piped up.  

"Stay out of this," Bruce said to him. He looked back at Selina. "Let's talk. In private."

Selina looked defiant. "We can talk right _here_ , Batman."

Bruce scowled. "Do you _enjoy_ being difficult, Selina?"

"You bet," She snapped, "oh, and by the way? The kid's staying with me."

Bruce opened his mouth to tell her that was the stupidest idea he had ever heard, and he had heard a plethora of stupid ideas, and that there was no way in hell that he was ever going to allow her to keep him, and did she really think she could handle a child when she could barely stay out of trouble herself, and that tiny apartment in the East end she stayed in was no place to raise a growing boy, he'd be much better off in a larger house, maybe even a manor, and besides, the CPS would never allow a single woman in her early twenties to adopt a ten year old, and did she even know what little boys ate every day and—

Dick yawned, loudly.

Both Bruce and Selina looked at him.  

"Sorry," he said, rubbing at his eyes, "I didn't really uh, get any sleep last night." He said it in a small voice, almost like he was ashamed.

Selina sighed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "He's _upset_ ," She said pointedly to Bruce, "I'm taking him home."

Then she scooped him up, and Dick put his little arms around her neck. "Ice cream first, though?" he said, hopefully.

Selina laughed, and they had left, and Bruce hadn't been able to come up with anything to say, so all he had done was watch them go, his fist clenching and unclenching.   

 

That had been a week ago. He watched them now, laughing and smiling over dinner. The burnt taste of creme brulee in his mouth. 

He slunk back into the shadows.

 

*

 

The annual Thomas and Martha Wayne foundation auction was held in the Manor, that weekend. 

Bruce watched as decorators put up fairy lights and white festival tents in the lawn, and as Alfred walked around the ballroom floor with a clipboard in hand, shouting orders to the help.

"Live music in the West lawn, and the food will be served out of the old greenhouse," Alfred said, crisply fastening Bruce's lapel as he walked by. 

_ The old Greenhouse,  _ Bruce thought. The smudge on the glass pane.  

"Why must we always do the dinner outdoors, Alfred? The  _ auction's _ inside."

"The party must always be outside. It's tradition," Alfred said, "and pass me that vase."

Bruce passed him a vase from a nearby table. Alfred took it and motioned for a decorator. The decorator came jogging up to them.

"Fill this with flowers," Alfred said, "and _don't_ drop it. It's was a gift to the Waynes from the Bernadotte dynasty of Sweden, in 1842. Oscar II's Fredrik's own vase."

"Dear old Oscar," Bruce said dryly. Dad had hated it. He used to joke about throwing it in the trash all the time, much to Bruce's mother's dismay.  

The decorator took it gingerly, running off. Bruce looked at Alfred, who was still looking at his lapel suspiciously. The live band started playing a lively jazz number.

He looked around them. _Everything_ , he thought. He had _everything_ , and yet he'd never felt more goddamned tired of his life.  

"Well," he said, "shall we begin?"

 

He was about three hours into the party, and deep into some inane conversation with a Senator, when he saw a little boy trying to climb up a wall. 

Bruce squinted. The boy was… grinning. He was dressed for the party, wearing a suit and everything; he was climbing like a damned monkey, hopping from ledge to ledge. He was already nearing the first floor window.

Bruce quickly excused himself, striding towards the edge of the grounds, where there were barely any party-goers. He looked up, staring at the soles of the boy's feet.

It was Dick Grayson, he realized with a start.  

"Excuse me," Bruce said, and Dick gave a little shriek, losing his footing.  

Bruce moved quickly, bracing his knees and holding his hands out. He caught Dick firmly in his arms, his legs and arms tucked neatly into his chest.  

"You know how to fall," Bruce said, admiringly, and then realised it had been the worst possible thing to say.  

"I've been practicing," Dick admitted softly, as Bruce let him down. "Thanks, um, Mr. –"

Before Bruce could tell him his name, Dick's eyes widened.

"You're the guy in the suit!" He cried out, "the man from the circus!"

Bruce tilted his head. "You remember," he said.

Dick nodded furiously. "Selina and I, we've– we've been trying to track you down for  _ ages,  _ only, I couldn't remember your name, Selina said it might be because I was in shock, but I know your face so well! I wish I could have described it better, she might've–"

Bruce smiled, extended a hand. "My name is Bruce. It's a pleasure to meet you again, Dick, and in better circumstances."

Dick opened his mouth, closed it again. He stared at Bruce's outstretched hand. "Bruce _Wayne_?" He squeaked.

Bruce nodded. "The very same."

Presently he heard someone walking up to them, and turned. It was Selina Kyle. She was in a purple cocktail dress, clutching a purse and a glass of wine.

"Dick, _darling_ , I've been looking _everywhere_ for you," She said, her voice like honey over velvet. Bruce almost wanted to laugh.  

"Is something going on that I'm not aware of?" He asked casually, looking between the two of them.

Selina blinked, looking naive and confused. A real babe in the woods. "Whatever do you mean, Mr. Wayne? It  _ is  _ Mr. Wayne, I presume? It's a  _ pleasure _ to meet you, I'm Selina Kyle. I  _ love  _ your hou—"

"Selina,  _ he's _ the man!" Dick whisper-shouted. "The guy from the circus."

Selina looked at him, and her whole composure changed. Her shoulders straightened out, and she dropped the smile. "What?"

Dick nodded, his eyes wide.

"You saw it happen," Selina said quietly, "you were there at the circus."

Bruce realised she was talking to him. He looked between the both of them again. "I was," he said, after a brief pause.  

Selina looked at him for a long moment. "Thank you," She said, simply, "Dick lives with me now. You saved his life that day. And maybe mine too."

Dick looked between the two of them. "Umm, I'm gonna go get some desert." he said, running off, leaving the two of them alone, at the very edge of the party. Bruce looked at Selina, standing in her purple dress, so very different from Catwoman, and still so very much the same.

Would you like to dance?” he murmured, offering her a hand.  

She smiled, slowly. “But there's no music, Mr. Wayne,” she said.  

“I hear it,”  he said, and sure enough, when they were both silent enough to listen for it, they could pick up on the barely audible music from the live band on the far side of the grounds.  

Selina tilted her head. “Alright,” she said, after a moment. 

She took his hand, following him as he led her away from the manor, and back to the lawns. She slipped off her heels, curling her toes in the grass.   

"This event is invite only," Bruce said, "I don't recall forwarding you an invitation, Ms. Kyle."

"Oh?" Selina said, "you must be mistaken. I  _ definitely _ received one."

Bruce held her waist, pulling her close to him. Her face was almost tucked into his neck. They were only swaying, was all. Not really dancing. And yet Bruce could feel the slight tension in her shoulders.

"May I see it?" He said. "The invitation."

Selina smiled, slowly. Then she went up on her toes, leaning so that she was pressed up against him. "No," She whispered into his ear, her hair tickling his neck.

Bruce could not find a logical argument to make against that.

They continued to dance, spinning in a loose circle. The music played faintly in the background, wafting up around them like the smell of honeysuckle in the summers.

“You're worried about him,” He said, after a while. He was speaking quietly, and could feel her hair against his jaw. "About Dick."

“I'm worried about _ me, _ ” Selina said, “ _ He's _ not the problem. I'm not a very good…” she paused, presumably lost in her thoughts.

After a moment she closed her eyes. “My mother used to say that children are like pancakes,” Selina whispered, “the first one always comes out a little weird.”

Bruce laughed at that, short and surprised. “I was the first child,” he said. The only child. He often thought about that. If maybe his parents would have decided to have another child if they had lived. If he'd have had a little brother.  

A little sister.

“Me too,” Selina said. 

Bruce was still spinning them around in a large, slow circle. "That day at the circus, not everyone saw what I saw," he said, abruptly.

Selina frowned up at him, waiting for more.

Bruce exhaled, shakily, “a lot of people saw two trapeze artists fall to their deaths. I was the only one that saw what happened.  _ Really  _ saw, miss Kyle.  When it happened to me, I was broken, for years and years,” he said, “something changed, inside of me, and it couldn't be out back in place, or fixed. Don't let it happen to him.”

The faint jazz wafted around them, barely audible enough to be heard. There. He'd gone and done it now. Selina was going to think he was crazy and she'd go away and take Dick with her and he would never see them again.

Instead, Selina only looked thoughtful. “You're not the only one that's been through shit, Mr. Wayne,” she said.  

Bruce blinked. Suddenly he felt like he'd never said that at all, like he hadn't really fucked up. She spoke his language, and she had chosen not to feel sorry for him, or give him a consoling look. He had presented her with his life's trauma and she had said, _well,_ _fuck you too._

He smiled broader. It felt good. It felt _really_ _good._

“If it was a contest, miss Kyle, I would have most certainly won,” he said.  

Selina snorted. "That's unlikely, Richie Rich. I had a bad childhood, _and_ I was poor."

He stared at her. They were still swaying. "Let me take you out to dinner," He said. "Tomorrow."

Selina raised an eyebrow. "It's a school night, Mr. Wayne. You gonna take Dick out too?"

"Okay," Bruce said simply.  

Selina stopped dancing. "What?"

"Okay. The three of us can go have dinner."

"No," Selina said, shaking her head, "I don't know what you're trying to do here, if it's some kind of revenge for us trying to steal your shit, but you can't just—"

"If he needs to sleep early before going to school I can just come over," Bruce said. "I'll bring food. I can't cook, but my butler Alfred can make a varied selection of meals. You name it."

"Butler," Selina murmured, her voice low. She looked like she needed a moment. "he has a butler."

"You were trying to get a ten year old boy to climb into a window and steal priceless heirlooms from my family's house. I think you had better invite me to dinner," Bruce said. "To make up for it."

Selina still looked stunned.  

"Is that a yes?"

She took a deep breath. It looked like she was rearranging her face. When she looked up at him, she was calm again. "Ask the kid," She said. "If he says yes, it's a yes."

 

Dick said yes. Enthusiastically.

He came to their apartment the next day, wearing a blazer and carrying a plastic container of Lasagna and a bottle of '73 Chateau-grillet Viognier.

It took nearly five minutes for them to answer the door after he rang the bell. "Sorry!" Dick squeaked, his head popping out from behind the door, "woah, is that lasagna?"

"Yes," Bruce said, "may I come in?"

"Oh jeez, you're wearing a suit and everything, Selina's still getting ready. I mean, she told me to not to tell you that, but I spent like, four minutes trying to think of an excuse before I just gave up," Dick said, looking sheepish. He opened the door wider. "'course you can come in!"

Bruce stepped into the apartment. It was a bigger place than the last one. He'd been in there a few times, summoned there by Catwoman on occasions when he'd… slipped up.  

There were two cats dozing on the sofa, and soft music playing from a speaker somewhere. A small kitchen, a dining table, and a hall. A tiny balcony with a few potted plants. A hallway that looked like it led to rooms, further inside. A normal looking apartment, if not for the priceless paintings on every wall. He walked past a Rembrandt on the way to the kitchen, setting the container down on the counter. 

Dick's eyes were bright, and his voice full of excitement, when he said, "I'm so glad you came. I still couldn't believe it, you know. Finding you, what were the odds!"

Bruce tried on a hesitant smile. It must have worked, because Dick grinned back. Bruce felt a wave of pure… _something_ , in his chest. He suspected that it was something very stupid, like _fondness_.

"So, do you have a dog?" Dick asked, skipping around Bruce to climb the counter and sit on it.

"What?"

"A dog. A ginormous house like that, I figured you had a dog. A big one, y'know? Like a husky, or a golden retriever, or a German Shepherd. German Shepherds are my favourite. I always wanted a dog, but we couldn't get one cause we moved around so much. There were always the other animals in the menagerie, but it wasn't really the same. And now there's two cats here, Sparky and Isis. I got to name Sparky, can you believe that? I love them, sure, but they're no  _ dogs.  _ I  _ wish  _ we had one, but Selina says they're too big and slobbery and they make a mess, and our apartment is too–"

"I have a dog," Bruce said. He felt transfixed, mesmerized by the words coming out of Dick's mouth. He thought of himself at Dick's age. Sullen. Quiet. Alfred had thought then that he was never going to get over it. In many ways he hadn't. 

Bruce couldn't help but marvel at Dick's resilience, in the face of his own lack of it.

"Really?" Dick said, excitement growing with every instant. "But I didn't see him at the party! Can I come over and meet him? How big is he? What's his name?"

"Uh," Bruce said, feeling at a loss for words. It was then that Selina emerged from the hallway wearing a tank top and jeans, her hands on her hips. Her arms were bare, and Bruce tried not to look at them. 

She noticed anyway, and smirked. "You brought lasagna," she said.

"An Alfred special. He also makes an excellent pork brains cutlet." Bruce said to Dick, making a face. Dick giggled. 

"No thank you," Selina said crisply, sitting down at the table. "Let's have a look at that wine."

The dinner was… an experience. Dick rambled on the entire time about his new school and his friends and what he was learning, and how good the lasagna was, and could he maybe have some wine, just a sip, he just wanted to see how it tasted.

Selina let him have a tiny sip out of her wine glass, watching him like a hawk. She didn't need to – soon Dick was exaggeratedly moaning and pulling faces.

"It's terrible!" he said. "It's so sour." 

"It's an acquired taste," Selina said dryly. "Come on, now that you're done, you're helping me with the dishes."

Bruce started to get up, "I'll help," he said, but Selina shook her head. "You can't get the food  _ and _ wash the dishes. It's not right."

"It's _not_ right," Dick echoed, solemnly.

"Don't you have a dishwasher?" Bruce asked.

Selina snorted. "Kitchen's too small. The apartment is still… well. It's a work in progress."

"Do you want a bigger place?"

Selina had been collecting the dishes to put them in the sink. She froze now. She looked at Dick. "Tell me he did not just offer to buy us a bigger house."

Dick shrugged. "Can we have a pool?"

"You are  _ not  _ getting us a house.  _ No  _ pool." Selina said, trying to be firm, except she was laughing. Bruce found out that he was smiling too. Perhaps it was the wine.

 

He left soon after that, because it was past Dick's bed time. 

"Come back soon. Or call us over!" Dick yelled, as Selina scooped him up to put him to bed. "I wanna see the dog!"

Bruce waved goodbye to them.

The next morning he went out and bought a German Shepherd.  

 

*

 

Everything was going well until the day he had the nightmare again.

It was the same one, over and over again– A young couple walking down a deserted alleyway late at night. Their son trailing after them, listening to them laugh and talk. 

Then a shadow emerged from the corner, and the son watched as they were gunned down. The shadow stared at the boy, and the boy stared back.

"Batman?" The boy said.  

Bruce woke, gasping and covered in sweat. After a while, he put his head into his hands.  

 

*

 

He walked around the grounds later that night, until he reached the greenhouse. He tensed when he heard sounds in the grass, and realised it was only the new puppy,  following him out of the house. 

"Shoo," he said, to the dog. The puppy only looked at him, flopping his butt down on the grass.

He stared up at the smudge on the glass pane. He stared and stared. Then he picked up a small, potted plant, and threw it at the pane.

He missed wildly, of course, in part because he was still half asleep and because it was dark, and in part because a part of him  _ wanted _ to miss, so he could throw something again. So he could watch something break. The puppy ran back, barking wildly.

He picked up another pot, and hurled it at the glass, and soon there was a loud cacophony of crashing glass and pots flying through the air, and the barking of a dog, and some kind of sound that sounded like a wild animal shouting. It was  _ him _ , he realised.

Huh.

After a while he stopped, not because he wanted to, but because he'd run out of pots. And then a tremendous feeling of tiredness washed over him, washed over his entire body, seeping through his bones. He sat on the bench, even though it was covered in bits of broken glass. Everything was covered in broken glass. The next morning Alfred was going to find him covered in cuts and he was going to be mad. The puppy came up to him slowly, his ears pinned down. He looked wary.

Bruce held out a hand. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so sorry."

It made him feel ashamed, like a little child. Shame. That was when he realised that the wave that had washed over him was not a feeling of exhaustion but of shame. The puppy came closer slowly, then gently licked his hand.

Bruce started to cry.

 

After that he didn't remember much. He must have called Selina up, because the next thing he knew, he was at their place, and she was making coffee for him in the middle of the night.

"I'm sorry," he said, through dry lips.

"Stop saying that," She said, handing him a cup, and he realised that he'd already said it before.  

"Your dog is scaring my cats," She said, motioning to the dozing puppy in his lap. Her voice was not unkind.  

Bruce looked down at the puppy. "His name is Ace," he said.  

"Ace?" Selina said, looking unimpressed.

Bruce nodded. "He's a good dog." he said, patting Ace's head. 

He looked up at her. "Can I sleep here, tonight? I'll take the couch," he added, watching the hesitation on her face.  

"Alright," She said, after a pause. She sighed, reaching for him. She was picking things out of his hair, he realised. "You're covered in glass, it's going to get on the dog."

He watched her. "I'm sorry," he said again.

She shook her head. "Shh, I need to concentrate." she murmured. She was still running her hands through his hair.  

He closed his eyes. "What will you tell Dick?" he asked. The boy was still asleep in his bedroom. He was going to be upset that he missed Ace. Bruce still felt that wave within him, that strange mixture of shame and exhaustion.

"The truth. That you had a bad day," Selina said, her voice soft, "and you needed someone to talk to."

Bruce nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice quiet.

"Okay," Selina said, her fingers steady and unshaking in his hair. 

 

*

 

After that, they started seeing each other a lot more.

When he was on patrol, he would swing by the East End, keeping an eye out for Catwoman and her mysterious new helper. He was an acrobat, apparently. Bruce didn't know if he disapproved. It seemed to be helping Dick focus his energy a lot. And it wasn't like Selina was ever putting him in direct danger. Nothing like that diamond ring business Selina had got herself mixed up in four months ago.

He called them to the Manor for dinner, one night, so that they could meet Alfred. They ate Chateaubriand steak with Béarnaise sauce. It would have been quiet, maybe even a little awkward, if not for Dick's propensity for telling stories that tending to go on and on. Alfred was very taken with Dick, Bruce could tell.  

He watched as Dick asked Alfred how to use all the three different types of forks on the table, and realised Selina was watching too.

"He likes it here," she said, looking at him with those keen eyes. "We both do."

Bruce stared at his plate, trying not to imagine the possibilities. 

  
  


That night, he sat in the greenhouse, looking up at the night sky. There was only the bare metal scaffolding of the structure around them now. The glass had been cleared away.

Ace sat loyally with him, although his head was in Bruce's lap, and he was quickly falling asleep. And yet Bruce found it difficult to do that same.

It struck him all at once, that maybe even after he'd scrubbed away at every last stain, wiped out every seed of corruption and crime in Gotham, even when every last glass window was gone, that even then he'd have a hard time putting his head down on a soft pillow and closing his eyes, and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.  

It struck him that perhaps he would never be able to sleep well again.  

The thought terrified him. Truly, deeply scared him, more than assassins or monsters or anything else he'd faced. The thought that maybe after all, he was alone in the dark. That there was no one there to pull him out, no one to come save him.

“Bruce?” said a voice, and he flinched. Ace's head shot up, off his lap.

“It's just me, Ace,” Dick said, smiling a sleepy grin. He was in his pajamas, his hair sticking up perpendicular to his scalp. He ambled over to where Bruce and Ace were sitting on the bench, and pushed at Ace's body so he could have room to sit.  

“It's the middle of the night,” Bruce managed to say, “you should be in bed.”

Dick yawned. “Couldn't really sleep,” he said. “Sometimes I have nightmares.”

Bruce looked at him. Dick was stroking Ace's back, still smiling that loopy grin. It was that casual way he had said it. Bruce swallowed.

“I have them too,” Bruce admitted, his voice low, “sometimes.”

Dick nodded sympathetically. “Do you want a hug?” he asked.

Bruce looked at Dick. “I– what?”

“Do you wanna hug?” Dick said again, seemingly oblivious to Bruce's wide-eyed stare, “When I’d have bad dreams, Mom would say that everyone felt scared once in a while. Even adults,” Dick smiled, a little slyly, “maybe even billionaires in mansions.”

Bruce's mouth felt dry. “Yes,” he rasped, “Yes, I would like a hug very much.”

Dick smiled. Then he clambered over Ace, and wrapped his arms around Bruce's neck. “It's gonna be okay,” he said, sagely.

Bruce inhaled, closing his eyes. Dick smelled comfortingly like laundry detergent and steak and little boy. Also faintly of cats. Sparky and Isis, he remembered. It made him smile.

“You're squeezing really tight!” Dick said, laughing. Bruce smiled a little wider, pulling back.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Dick grinned. He clambered back over Ace, to his empty spot on the bench. “No problem. I like hugs! You're good at giving them.”

“I am?”

“Uh huh. So is Selina. And Ace, most of all.” Dick said, flipping off the bench and onto the ground, and crouching down so his face was level with Ace's. He grinned again, giving the German Shepherd a kiss on his head. Ace licked Dick's cheek fondly. Bruce watched the two of them.

“I lied about having a dog,” he said, all of a sudden, “I went and got Ace the day after we talked about it. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.”

“Oh,” Dick said, “Why?”

Bruce thought about it for a moment. “I don't… really know. I just wanted for you to have a dog to play with.”

Dick looked at him, with his big blue eyes. “Okay,” he said.  

Bruce blinked. “That's it?”

Dick shrugged. “You're sorry you lied. It's okay.”

Bruce exhaled. “Okay.”

Dick smiled. “Can we go get some ice cream from the fridge?”

Bruce tilted his head. It was a while before he smiled. He got to his feet, holding out a hand to Dick, “Alright. We can do that.”

“Awesome!” Dick cried, leaping up, and Ace's head shot up again, “this is turning out to be a super great day, isn't it, Ace?”

Ace panted happily, trotting along side them.

They walked to the manor, hand in hand. The figure of the greenhouse got smaller and smaller, until it was barely larger than a nickel.

“Bruce, can Ace have some ice cream?”

“Only vanilla, and only a little bit.”

“You hear that Acie? You're gonna get ice cream too, bud!”

And as night fell, a man, a boy, and a dog walked back home. 

 

*

 

Before the first wisps of dawn crept into the sky, Bruce silently walked back down the hall, towards his bedroom.

The door was already half-open.

Bruce paused. His muscles tensed. He crept towards the door slowly, pushing it open.  

It was Selina.  

She was staring out of an open window, smoking a cigarette. She turned when she saw him.  

“Ah, shit,” she said, putting the cigarette out against the sill, “you weren't supposed to see that.” She flicked it out of the window.

Bruce stared. “What are you doing here?” he said.  

Selina crossed her arms, looking a little defensive. “I came up here to complain about being stuck in an awful little spare room. And then you weren't even here.”

Bruce frowned. “I couldn't sleep. I went for a walk. And the guest bedroom isn't awful. Or little.”

Selina looked still more defensive. “Yeah, well, it's lonely. And I didn't,” she paused for a moment, frowning back, “I didn't expect that I would be alone tonight.” she said, rather coolly.

“Oh,” Bruce said.

“Oh? That's all you have to say? What did you think was going on, Bruce? We've been on dates, the kid knows you. Actually, I'm pretty sure he's half in love with you.”

Bruce considered this. He sat down on the bed. “And what about you?” he said.  

Selina was still up against the window, across the room from him. She was almost pushed up against the sill, her body half-turned from him.  

“What about me?” she said.  

Bruce looked down, at his hands. “I'm not– I'm not the right person, Selina,” he said. “You deserve better.”

Selina blinked, like she couldn't quite process what he'd just said. “Huh?” she said, or made a sound like it.  

Bruce looked her in the eye. “You deserve better,” he said, and she did, and she would realise it, and leave sooner or later, even if it broke his heart.

Selina was silent for a while. Then she scrubbed at her face. “And since when,” she said, “am I such a bastion of Goodness and Kindness? Do you look at me and think, wow, she must be a real pillar of the fucking community? Do you see me ladling out stew at the soup kitchen every sunday, or helping geriatrics cross the goddamn expressway, you idiot?”

“You gave Dick a home,” Bruce said.

“Not before you tried to get your grabby little philanthropic hands on him! And I make him help me steal rich people's money, for God's sake! I am the very definition of a shit person, Bruce. I promise you, there is nothing you have done that is too low for me.” Selina said, narrowing her eyes. “Do it. I dare you. Name one flaw that you have, that I just won't be able to get past.”

Bruce frowned. There were a hundred things, a thousand things he could have told her, but for some reason, all that came out was, “I kick. In my sleep.”

There was a pause. “Really, Bruce?”

Bruce shrugged, a little awkwardly.

"I swear in front of the kid. Almost constantly," Selina said.

Bruce crossed his arms. "I've never done my own laundry," he said.

Selina raised an eyebrow. “I smoke. But always at night, so Dick doesn't know.”

“I punched the CEO of a major company, last week,” Bruce said. "It was in the tabloids."

Selina was half-smiling now. “Good,” she said, “I hate rich people. They're overrated. He deserved it.”

"I'm a rich person."

"You're an exception, because you tried to awkwardly buy me a house," Selina said.

“I saw a smudge on a glass panel in the greenhouse in the manor, and I had a minor nervous breakdown and broke everything."

Selina pushed off from the wall, leaning forward. “I steal priceless pieces of art and put them up in my apartment, sometimes. Just because I can.”

“I lied about Ace,” Bruce said.  

“I _know_ , Bruce,” Selina said, “he's the stupidest dog on the planet. What kind of German Shepherd can't do the  _ Sit _ command unless he's brand new?”

“I tried going to therapy once and I flipped a table,” Bruce said.  

“I go to church once in a while during mass to see my sister, but I always leave before she can see me because I'm just that afraid to talk to her,” Selina said, her voice as tight as a wire. “And when I see her there she always looks happy, and it makes me so angry, Bruce. Because she shouldn't get that. It's not fair. Not while I'm unhappy.”

“I've had trouble sleeping for the last seventeen years,” Bruce said, quietly, “Especially in this room, because it used to be my parents’. I hate it. I hate how quiet everything is. I think I'm going crazy."

“When I was eighteen and we didn't have any money to go around, I was a working girl. Just for two months, until we had enough money to pay rent. And that's around the time my sister stopped talking to me. It fucked me up, Bruce. It really did.” Selina said. She had stopped smiling a long time ago. She sat next to Bruce, on the bed.

Bruce looked down.

“When I was eight, I saw my parents get murdered in front of me. And I haven't been the same ever since,” he said, his voice rough.  

He realized Selina was looking at him. He turned his head to watch her. The sun was slowly coming up, and light was beginning to stream into the room. Onto the sheets, the pillows, her face.

“I know, Bruce,” She said. She grabbed a hold of his hand.

"You're not going crazy," she said. "You're just lonely. You know how I know? Because I'm lonely too. I need this, okay?"

Bruce looked down, at their joined fingers. “Okay.” he husked. 

In the soft light of the morning, his memories felt less like hundred mile-long chains, or bars that kept him caged.

They felt more like the touch of an idle finger, tracing his jaw. A hand running through his hair. He leaned into it, closing his eyes. Took a deep breath.

Then he kissed her. 

  
  
  
  



	3. Eggshell white

Selina took a deep breath, putting the regulator on. She had thirty minutes of oxygen exactly. She put her goggles on, adjusted her boots, and dove into the canal, switching her flashlight on.

The canal was murky and green, but she'd always been a good swimmer. She breathed in slowly; deep, big lungfuls of cold, metallic oxygen.  

The muscle she'd hired to break into the museum were going to deactivate the alarm as per the codes she'd given them, and then break through the reinforced glass to steal the exhibit that was making rounds through Italy right now. A gold brooch and a pair of earrings from the Mughal dynasty, estimated at fifty thousand euros.

She squinted in front of her, treading water and trying not to think of the sewage that was flowing through the canal. She'd reached her destination.

The security codes hadn't been difficult to crack, but she hadn't been able to figure out how to switch off the cameras. Any interference with surveillance resulted in a direct notification to the Venetian police.  

So she'd had to get creative, and hire a team to break in _for_ her.  They were supposed to get the jewels, run outside the museum, throw their spoils into the canal. Then get into a getaway car and then a ferry, to the mainland.  

She waited, and waited, and waited. She heard nothing. No sirens, no tell-tale sounds of motors running through the water, no police boats passing above her. No soft _plop_ of the watertight pouch of jewels. Nothing.

Shit. There was always the possibility that she'd been double crossed.  

Her tank was running out of oxygen. She could either go back to the boat, or surface. And she had to pick one option, fast.  

If she could sigh, she would have. She should have run better background checks on the team.  

That was when she saw it.

A thin thread of red, unspooling around her slowly, until there was a fine mist of it all around her. She watched, unable to look away, as the red tendrils grew thicker and thicker, until she saw the bodies.

They'd been dumped across the canal from her, her accomplices. Shot in the head, both of them.  

There was something curled up in one of their fists.

She swam into the red, pried open his fist.  

It was a silver bullet. It had her name carved on it.

 

*

 

"Hey," Dick said, greeting her at the door with a big smile, "how was Italy?"

"Boring," Selina lied. She wheeled her suitcase into the hallway, and then paused while Dick wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. It was something she still hadn't quite gotten used to, even after almost eight months, the constant hugs.  

"I missed you," Dick said, muffled into her stomach.

"I missed you too," Selina said, patting his back. "You better have been going to school. Bruce been coming everyday?"

Dick laughed. "Yeah. He said he's going to finish painting the hall anyday now. But he still can't help me with my art project. He said he doesn't know how to draw a cat. Can you imagine! I made him draw me a car and he made an _amazing_ Ferrari, but he can't draw a cat! They're not even _hard_. I just have trouble with the legs, and he said that I was just gonna have to tell my teacher to give me an assignment about a car or a house or something."

"Bruce can make straight lines, and that's about it," Selina said, putting her purse down on the table. She looked through the cupboards, frowning, "Are those… granola bars?"

Dick rolled his eyes. "Yeah. He's been telling me to eat those instead of Cinnamon toast crunch. What a nerd."

Selina looked at the wrapper dubiously. "Wow. Three percent sugar. Maybe he's onto something." she turned to him. "Listen, I have to tell—"

"Um, Selina?" Dick said. He looked anxious. "I wanna show you something. Um. Don't be mad, okay?"

Selina stared. "Okay."

Dick sighed, and then walked towards his bedroom, motioning for her to come with him. Curious, Selina followed.  

"I _know_ you tell me never to hang out with the bigger kids, and I _know_ it's a bad neighborhood and all, and that when you're not home I'm not supposed to go out and play unless Bruce comes by and not even _then_ because you say Bruce is bad at setting limits but–" Dick looked at her desperately, "I found him near the convenience store on the corner of 67th and Rosmund. And he's not even a bigger kid!"

He opened the door. There, sitting at the very edge of the bed, looking like he was ready to run at any moment, was a scrappy looking boy.

"His name's Jay," Dick whispered theatrically, "I think. Sometimes I see him sleeping on the street. He doesn't really speak much. I don't think he has parents."

The kid was chewing on his lip. He stared up at Selina with wide eyes. Selina stared back at the boy.  

Dick looked at her, smiling weakly. "Can he stay with us?"

 

*

 

The problem about moving into an unfurnished house with two bedrooms and two baths, six months before she turned twenty four, was that she knew nothing about home renovation.

And her apartment needed _work._

The living room was okay enough, even though it was bare except for her couch and small TV, and one lamp. The kitchen needed better cupboards than the shitty ones she'd got from IKEA and tried to install herself, and then given up at and called a guy instead, and the sink was always making a weird hissing sound because of a leak in the pipes. The wooden panels in Dick's room were getting a little damp looking, and had to be removed before they got mouldy. Every single room needed a paint job.

This was where Bruce came in. The man was _obsessed_ with fixing her house. Ever since he'd come over that one time and the tap had started spewing water all over him when he'd tried to wash the dishes. Bruce had looked not unlike a drenched puppy, standing there in shock.

She'd smiled, raising her voice to talk over Dick's peals of laughter. "Bet that doesn't happen too often at the manor, huh?"

Now, every time he came over he brought something new– either bulbs, or some paint chips, or a toolkit to fix the shower, or a furniture catalogue. It was his _mission_ to make the apartment better.

 

Bruce's voice on the phone was serious now. "Of course you have to keep him."

" _Jesus Christ_ ," Selina said incredulously, "you and Dick are made for each other."

"I would do it," Bruce said.

"You have more money than _God!"_ Selina whisper-shouted. She was in the kitchen, pacing to and fro, while Dick and Jason sat in his bedroom still, waiting for her decision. "I already have _one._ It doesn't– it doesn't make _sense_. Financially."

Bruce was silent on the other side of the call.

"What?" Selina snapped, "do you disapprove, or something?"

"No," Bruce said, "didn't you go to Venice and steal a three hundred carat ruby brooch? You should be swimming in it, right now."

"Things didn't exactly go to plan, _Bruce,_ " Selina hissed, throwing her hands up, "someone's put a hit on me!"

The other end of the call was silent.

"Hello?" she said.

"I'm here," Bruce said. There was a longer pause. They were just breathing into the phone. "I'm coming over," he said. "You're not spending the night alone."

Selina rolled her eyes. "You don't have to."

"Someone is trying to kill you. I do think I have to."

"Someone tries to kill me every Tuesday, Bruce. And besides, _I'm_ the one that knows mixed martial arts here. What could you even–"

"I'm coming over," he said, "and I'm bringing the paint cans with me."

"Bruce, _not_ toda–"

The phone clicked off.  

Selina sighed. Great. Fucking aces.

 

She walked back to the bedroom, and looked at the boys. They'd been talking to each other in low voices, and stopped abruptly when she came in.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," Dick shrugged. "I was only telling him of how you took me in after everything with the circus happened."

Selina closed her eyes for a moment. Now was  _not_ the time for Dick to start telling this homeless kid tales of her goodwill and generosity. 

She sat down on the twin bed, next to the two boys. Jay hadn't said a word yet.  

He watched her, with those keen eyes, taking in every action. He looked a little younger than Dick, maybe eight or nine. He was dressed in ratty looking jeans and a hoodie looked too small for him, in a colour that may have once been red. It was hard to tell. He looked like he had a fine layer of grime all over him.

Selina shifted ahead a little, and the kid flinched.  

She froze.  

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said, holding a hand up in a conciliatory gesture. "But you're gonna have to tell me a little bit about yourself before I consider anything Dick's asking me, okay?"

Jay looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his fists clenched in his lap.

"Is Jay short for something?" Selina asked.

Jay nodded.  

"Jason?" Dick said. "Or maybe, Jerry?"

Jay shook his head. "Jason," he whispered.  

"Okay, Jason," Selina said, softly, "where are your parents?"

Jason was shaking his head.  

"Okay," Selina said, "I won't ask. But they're not around?"

"No," Jason whispered.

Dick was looking at her with pleading eyes, _let's keep him,_ they were saying. Selina rubbed at her eyes. This was going to be a long day.

"Are you hungry?" She asked Jason.

Jason looked up at her, for the first time. He had hazel eyes, just like her mother used to have. She hadn't thought of her mother in a long time.

"Yes," he said.  

 

She made the boys grilled cheese sandwiches. Twenty minutes after a _nine_ hour international flight from fucking _Italy_ , after having to pass through customs and security checks and having to wait around for her bag for half an hour, here she was, making sandwiches. Jason and Dick were watching cartoon Network on TV. Actually, it was more like Dick was watching TV, and laughing a little extra hard at the jokes and turning every time to see if Jason was laughing too, while Jason just alternated between staring at Selina and staring at the floor.  

 

The doorbell rang, and Selina almost felt flooded with relief.

There Bruce was, holding a paint roller and a can of _Eggshell white_.

Selina gave him a look. "You were supposed to get _Bone White_."

"While you were gone Dick and I made the executive decision that _Bone white_ looked frightening." Bruce said, his mouth curved up slightly. He leaned towards her slightly, kissing her briefly.

"Eggshell is _boring,"_ Selina pointed out, wrapping her arms around his neck. "My trip to Italy was excellent, how nice of you to ask."

"I wanted purple!" Dick said, "And bright turquoise for bathrooms. But Bruce said that you'd be mad at us."

Bruce looked at her, concerned. "Does he know?" he asked. He was asking about the bullet. 

Selina shook her head. "Come in," She said, louder, "this is Jason, he's… Dick's friend."

Bruce nodded at Jason. Jason was only staring at all of them, looking visibly uncomfortable.

"I'm making grilled cheese sandwiches," Selina told Bruce, going back over to the kitchen, "you want one?"

"Yes, please," Bruce said. He followed her to the kitchen, took out a large paring knife from the drawers. He went back towards the living room to open the can of paint, when Jason started to scream.

By the time Selina ran back outside to the living room to see what was going on, Bruce had already dropped the knife like it was a hot poker. Jason was curled up in one corner of the sofa, his fists clenched.

He was sobbing.  

Dick looked confused. "What's wrong?" he kept asking.

Bruce looked at Selina. They had both understood.

"Could you go take a look at the grilled cheese, Bruce?" Selina said, keeping her tone light, "I think I dropped the pan, by mistake."

Bruce was nodding. "Of course," he said, leaving the room. He left the knife where he'd dropped it.

"Dick," Selina said, her voice even, "I think you had better go with him."

Dick still looked confused, "But I don't–" he stopped when he saw Selina's face. "Okay," he said. He hesitated for a moment, then leapt up from the sofa, scampering after Bruce. That left the two of them alone in the room.

Selina sat down next to Jason. He was still curled up, his shoulders hunched. He'd stopped crying though. He was staring at the floor.  

"Jason," Selina said, cautiously, "Bruce isn't like that. He was only going to open the can. You need something sharp for that."

A silence.  

"I know," Jason whispered, "I'm sorry."

Selina came a little closer. "Did your father ever hurt you?"

"No," Jason said. There was a faint sound of a pan being picked up, of the stove being switched back on. The voice of a child and a man talking to each other. "He hit my mom."

Selina watched him. "That's not going to happen. Not in this house."

Jason was still fixedly staring at the floor.

"Not in this house, Jason," Selina repeated. "Bruce is not a violent man. He couldn't hurt a fly."

She heard something. A slight intake of breath. She turned to see Bruce standing at the doorway. He had an inscrutable expression on his face.

The knife still lay on the floor, between them.

 

*

 

"I think I'll tell Batman," Selina said.

She and Bruce were lying in bed, both staring up at the ceiling. It was after dinner, and Jason was sleeping in Dick's room. Just for tonight. Until she figured out what to… _do_ about him.

"About the boy?" Bruce asked.

Selina frowned. "About the bullet. What could he do about Jason?"

Bruce was silent. "Not much, I suppose." he said, after a bit. "Not much Batman could do about anything," he said. His voice was strange.

Selina looked at him, smiling. "You jealous?"

Bruce was still staring up at the ceiling. "No," he said, in that weird voice.

Selina's smile widened. She propped herself up on one elbow, leaning over him. "Oh, I think you _are,_ " she said, her lips ghosting over his face. "Don't worry, Bruce. He's not my type."

"He isn't," Bruce said, but she knew him well enough by now to understand that it was really a question.

"Nope," she said, hooking a leg over his thighs, and climbing more or less on top of him. "He's _mean_ and _grumpy_ and he _never_ helps me paint my kitchen Bone white." she grinned.

"Eggshell," Bruce said, faintly.  

"Sorry, _Eggshell._ Also, he'd probably be a terrible influence on Dick, don't you think? Guy like that, running around and beating up people?"

"Selina, I'm tired," Bruce said, extracting himself from her arms, "let's not."

Selina's smile faded. "What?"

"I'm just tired," Bruce said again, his voice light. "Let's go to bed, alright?"

Selina pulled away. "What's wrong?"

Bruce smiled at her. It looked hollow. Then he touched the back of her neck and kissed her. "Nothing's wrong. Let's just get some sleep. You've had a long day."

He settled onto his side of the bed, pulling up the covers so they were around her. And then he went to sleep like that, his arm still on her shoulder.

Selina went back to staring at the ceiling.

 

She must have drifted off to sleep, because she had a nightmare.  

Maggie and Selina were sitting in their mom's bedroom in their old house, and they were watching TV. Maggie had the remote, and she was flicking through the channels aimlessly. She was changing them too fast, before Selina could see what was playing.

"Stop it," she told her.

Maggie ignored her, changing the channel. It was a news channel, and she saw Batman in the headlines. The news lady was speaking fast, and Selina leaned forward to watch.

"Last night, after a large gang war broke out in the East Docks at 3 AM, the Batman intervened and was severely injured. He has been since admitted to a hospital and his secret identity has been published. Batman's civilian name is–"

Maggie switched the channel.

"Hey!" Selina said, and Maggie grinned.

"You're so stupid, Cat," she said. She turned, her green eyes flicking to the doorway, "Dad's home," she said, as the doorbell rang, "he's drunk again. He's gonna start hitting us if you don't wake up."

Selina watched the TV. It was on some stupid infomercials channel now, some dumb show selling silver bullets for half-price. They came with customizable names. The doorbell rang again and again, insistently.

"Change the channel back!" Selina said. Someone was pounding their fists on the door.

Maggie shook her head. "Wake up," she said again. Then she switched off the TV.

 

Selina woke up, gasping. The sheets were soaked in sweat. Out of instinct, she stretched an arm out in the darkness, and felt that the space next to her was empty. There was only a cool mattress. Bruce was gone.

She sat up, looking around. The apartment was dark, and silent. Something was wrong. She could feel it.  

She went to check in on Dick, and found him asleep in bed, curled up in the covers. The mattress on the floor was empty. Jason was gone, too.

 

*

 

She found him three blocks away, running down an alleyway with a bag full of her nice silver jewellery. He stopped running when he saw her, though.  

"Your costume looks weird," he said. Selina guessed that meant he'd given up trying to run. 

"You could at least say sorry, Jason," she said.  

Jason had the decency to look a little ashamed. "I'm sorry," he said. He dropped the bag. "But I had to try."

Selina crossed her arms, looking at him. "All that silver was in my closet, inside my bedroom. You snuck in without me noticing. You're quite the little thief," she said, "I admire that in a person." she held out a hand, "Come on. We're going back."

Jason shook his head. "Something's bad," he murmured.

Selina took the bag from him and slung it on her shoulder. "What?"

"The man," he said. "He wasn't there when I went to your room. He left."

"Bruce?" she said. "He has nightmares, sometimes. Insomnia. He likes to take walks at night, if he can't sleep."

Jason shook his head. "He was lying," he said.

Selina shook her head, incredulous. "About _what?"_

Jason crossed his arms, staring at her from underneath his unruly mop of hair. "About the knife."

Selina sighed. Not this again. "He wouldn't hurt you, Jason."

"He wouldn't," Jason said, "but he could. He knows how."

Selina rubbed at her brow. "Look, it's the middle of the night. I'm tired. Let's just go back home, alright?"

She started walking back. After a while, she heard his reluctant footsteps follow her.

 

When she got back home, Dick was awake, "I saw your note," he said, "but where's Bruce?"

Selina didn't want to say she didn't know. Instead, "Why don't you go back go bed," she told him, "I want to talk to Jason, for a bit."

Dick looked between the two of them and shrugged. " _I'm_ not getting yelled at," he said, going back to his bedroom. The door shut with a soft click. Jason was already sitting at the table, his arms crossed.

She sat across the table from Jason, watching him. He was watching her right back. He always sat at the very edge of the chair, she'd realized. Always one foot out of the door.  

"Jason," she said, slowly, "you can't do that again."

Jason was silent. His face was shuttered off, almost like he wasn't in the room at all. Maggie used to do that, when she got upset. She went away somewhere, deep inside. Selina remembered crouching in the corner of the room, listening to the sound of breaking plates and raised voices, and then turning to see Maggie sitting next to her and staring at a wall, her gaze blank.  

She could _feel_ herself falling for this kid. She sighed.

Selina leaned forward. "Listen to me, Jason. You _could_ have a home here. Food, water, fresh clothes. You could stay and go to school and play video games and eat candy. Whatever it is that kids do. But if you run away, it's going to be difficult to find you again. We may not always get as lucky as we did this time."

The room was quiet. His arms were still crossed defiantly.

Selina sighed. "Okay. You don't have to talk." She shook her head, looking at the stains on his hoodie. "You wanna change out of those clothes?"

Jason shook his head quickly.  

"I'm not taking them away," Selina said, wearily, "they're filthy. They need to be washed."

"No," Jason said. His voice was almost a whisper, yet somehow still fierce.  

"You need a shower."

Jason shook his head.

"You can take your clothes into the bathroom with you. You can take them into the shower, for all I care. I'm not taking them away."

He shook his head again. Now he was glaring at her.

Selina leaned back, and watched him. "Fine. Suit yourself."

"Fine," Jason shrugged. He was still glaring at her.  

They watched each other warily, clearly at an impasse. Then the door swung open.

She stood up quickly, a tight wire of fear wrapped around her throat. The bullet was burned into her mind. The mist of red all around her.

But it was only Bruce. He looked a little surprised to see them awake, but he hid it well. And quickly. 

"Where the _hell_ _were you_?" Selina said, very calmly. She could be a calm person.  

Bruce's eyebrows were furrowed. "Ace was throwing up. Alfred called me. I had to go to the manor to see what was wrong."

"Oh," Selina said. She sat back down. "Jason ran away."

Bruce looked at Jason. Jason's arms were still crossed in an angry little knot, and he was looking anywhere else but at Bruce.

He was still scared of him, Selina realised.

Bruce looked like he'd realised it too. He sat down at the table, next to them.

"I ran away too, when I was a little older than you." he said.  

Jason looked up.

Bruce smiled. "I ran away to France," he said.  

Selina snorted. "That's not running away, that's a vacation," she said.  

"Maybe," Bruce said. He was looking directly at Jason, "but it didn't feel like one. I was very angry at everyone, back then. Especially at my guardian, Alfred. I dropped out of school and went to travel the world. After France, it was Nepal, in the mountains. Then Tibet. Then London, for four months. I didn't even tell him before I left. He must have thought I was dead."

There was a beat. Selina frowned. Bruce had never told her this before.

"Why did you come back?" Jason asked. It was the first time he'd talked directly to Bruce.  

Bruce shrugged. "I grew up," he said, simply. "I realized I had responsibilities at home. That I'd done the wrong thing, letting Alfred worry about me for years like that. I had a duty now. A purpose." A pause, "And to be honest, I was awfully tired of eating english food. It's a torture I would wish to inflict on no one Jason, to have to eat bangers and mash all the time."

Jason arms were still crossed, but he smiled the smallest smile. Bruce smiled back, just as tentatively.

"I'm going to bed," Bruce said, brushing a kiss onto Selina's hair. "You coming?"

Selina nodded. "In a moment," she said, watching Bruce go.

When the bedroom door had clicked shut, she gave Jason a look.

"Still think he's a bad guy?" she asked. 

"A little spoiled, maybe," Jason said, and Selina snorted.

"I can't disagree with you there," she said. Then she leaned over to ruffle his hair. Jason coloured, looking embarrassed.

"I'm going to let the dirty clothes slide for now. But don't run away again, okay?" she said. "I'm asking for Dick. He really wants this to work."

Jason was determinedly looking down at the wood grain on the table, but he nodded.

 

*

The next day the news cycle was awash with reports of Batman having taken down a drug ring in the Narrows, and of the criminals that he'd tied up to the statue outside the Gotham judicial Court office, sometime in the middle of the night.

Selina thought only about the bullet.  

Dick had to go to school early for some swim meet, so Bruce offered to drop him on the way to work. That left her and Jason alone in the apartment. Along with two paint cans full of eggshell white.

"Do you want to help me paint the hall?" she asked him in the morning.  

 

They covered the sofa and the table and the lamp in a coat of plastic wrap. Then they wore aprons and nitrile gloves, and Selina taught him how to use a paint roller. Soon, the two of them were halfway down with the room. The air smelled of paint and Jason's hoodies was covered in little drips of white paint.

"Let me get you a new t-shirt," she said, putting down her roller.

"I'm not taking my hoodie off," Jason said.  

"Jason, it's–"

"I'm _not_ taking it off," Jason snapped. "What, it's not enough that I'm staying here and not stealing your shit and helping you paint your fucking house?"

Selina took a deep breath, counting to ten. She gave up at six.

"You hungry?" she asked, biting back the frustration.

A pause. Then, a small nod.  

"Okay. Let's take a break from the painting." Selina exhaled. She walked over to the fridge, opening it and looking inside."You wanna help?"

A beat. "Me?" he asked.  

"Yes. Dick never has the patient to sit still and watch a pan. I need to delegate to _someone_. We're making chicharrones."

He walked slowly over to the counter. "What's that?" he asked, and Selina hid her smile, facing the fridge. Good. Curiosity was a good thing.

"It's fried pork ribs. My mom used to make them. We can eat them with tortillas and lime. If you want to help you're going to have to wash your hands, at least."

Jason blushed, but he washed his hands.  

"What do I do?" he asked.  

Selina dug around in the fridge, looking for what she wanted. "Here," she said, handing him a lime. "You know how to use a knife, don't you? Cutting board's in the third drawer. Wash it first."

Jason washed the cutting board out, and washed the lime. Then he gingerly placed it on the board. He took the knife Selina handed him, and slowly began to slice.

"Thumb tucked in," Selina said, and Jason nodded, bringing down the knife.

She watched him.  

 

For dinner they ate chicharrones and tortillas. Selina drank wine and the kids had soda, just this once. She noticed that Dick was very tactfully not bringing up any mention of Jason having run away. Nor would he ever, it struck her. No matter how many times Jason ran away, he'd welcome him back with open arms every time.  

A part of her chest ached, at that. He was such a _good_ boy. He deserved a better–a better life than what she could provide him.

Dick talked all through dinner as was characteristic of him, and Selina joined in occasionally. Jason was silent, though. He ate like a starved man, and drank about three glasses of Coke, but he was quiet. But he looked up every time Dick or Selina addressed him, and snorted at some of Dick's jokes. He even smiled a little shyly when Selina told him that dinner had come out a lot better than when she made it herself.

If Selina knew anything about children, she'd have said that it looked like he was having a good time.

 

*

 

After that she made a new plan.

 

Jason was obviously scared of becoming too dependent on them, so she'd make sure he had _some_ agency.

"You can stay out all day, if you like," she said to him while the two of them were making his bed that night. "But you're going to have to come home before seven. You need to help me with dinner, okay?"

Jason nodded, after a while. "Okay," he said, even though they full well knew that he wouldn't always stick to his word.  

He didn't run away again, though.  

 

The next night they made something a little tougher. Ajiaco.

"My sister used to call this Everything stew," she said, as she was getting the pot out. Jason was still in his filthy hoodie, although he'd agreed to shower, at least.  

"How come?" he asked.  

Selina smiled. "Open the fridge, and take everything out."

"It's all going in?"

"Whatever we have," Selina said. She paused, "we really need to go to the store."

They put in potatoes, pumpkin, plantains, corn, meat, tomato paste, spices, a quarter cup of the beer that she'd bought for whenever Bruce came over, lemon juice and pretty much any other ingredient they had.  

"And now you leave it for an hour," she said.  

"Oh," Jason said, "that's pretty boring."

"We could go look for some clothes for you, in the mean time," Selina said, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. She was stirring the stew.

"No," Jason said.  

Selina sighed. Instead, they watched some awful reality TV show with Dick. Jason and Dick joked about it. Mostly Selina thought about the bullet. That, and Batman. She was going to have to tell Batman, the next time she saw him.

 

Jason didn't stick around that morning, but he came to their apartment at seven in the evening the next day.

They finished painting the rest of the hall. Then they made Pulpeta. A kind of meatloaf that her mother had taught her how to make on a stove. Jason burned his hand on the edge of the pan, and Selina had to hold it under the tap that made the hissing sound in the kitchen, while Jason cursed up a blue streak, tears in his eyes. Selina pretended not to notice, and they ate their meatloaf while Dick washed the dishes.

That night she got him to wear some of Dick's clothes. At least they were clean. He put the hoodie back on as soon as it was washed though, threadbare as it was.

"My dad bought it for me, a couple years back," Jason said, avoiding Selina's gaze. "I'm not ready to get rid of it just yet, okay?"

"You could have just said so, Jay," Selina said, her voice quiet.

Jason shrugged irritably. "I don't wanna talk about it." he said. So they didn't.

The day after that Selina told him that she was sick of cuban food, so they made spaghetti in pesto sauce. The day after that, they ate the leftover spaghetti and some onion soup. Then costillitas.

Bruce came over the next day to fix the tap and frown at pipes while getting grease all over his t-shirt. Jason stayed, even though he was stubbornly quiet the whole time. By the time Bruce had fixed it, it was dinner time. They ate hamburgers. Bruce left after that, telling them he couldn't stay the night because he had an early morning meeting to attend. 

The day after that it was Mac and Cheese— Dick tried to help and overcooked the pasta a little. Then Fritas. Stir fry. Naan bread and paneer tadka. Beef Stroganoff (they messed that one up pretty bad, but Dick told them it reminded him of the time the circus had gone to Moscow). Thai curry. A microwave dinner from the store(Selina was sick that day). Szechuan rice.

Soon Jason was coming over to the house earlier in the evening, and leaving later the next day, until one day he didn't leave at all.

When Selina found him in the house well into noon, he shrugged, sheepishly. "We're supposed to be making tacos, right?"

"Yeah," Selina smiled, "we are. We've still got a good four hours to kill before we have to start, though. Bruce is coming over today, he's gonna spend the night. You okay with that?"

"You're asking me?" Jason asked, still looking uncomfortable.

"Of course," Selina said, lightly, "it's your house too, now."

There was a long silence. Selina waited.

"Yeah," Jason said quietly, "I'm okay with that."

Bruce came over at five. He'd brought a large tool box. "Today is the _day_ ," he said, with just enough stoic dramatism in his voice to make Selina roll her eyes. Dick whooped. Jason only looked confused.

"The day for what?" he asked.

"We're going to tear out all the wood panelling in Dick's room." Bruce said. His mouth had quirked up slightly. "I bought my power drill."

"B, _please_ let me use it. Just one time. Just _once_! I swear I won't cut off a finger or anything!" Dick cried, leaping off the couch and towards Bruce, tackling him to the floor.

"Ask Selina," Bruce said, his voice muffled into the carpet.

"Selina _please!"_ Dick yelled, and Selina held her hands up.

"Do whatever you want as long as Bruce is watching and you're done before seven. All of you are helping with dinner tonight."

Dick's grin was blinding. "Jay! You know that Bruce has an electrical _chainsaw_?"

"Not one you're ever using before you turn eighteen," Bruce said, his voice still muffled into the carpet. Dick was still more or less on top of him, and Bruce, who easily outweighed him by at least a hundred and twenty pounds, give or take, was making no move to get up.

Selina tried not to laugh. Even Jason looked interested in the idea of power tools.

They spent the next two hours tearing down the false wall, making one hell of a racket hammering and prying and drilling away. And then they sauntered out of the room coated in sawdust and sweat, smiling like men emerging victorious from battle.

Selina looked at the wall, now bare for the first time since she'd moved here.

"You like it?" Bruce said, coming to stand next to her. He was sweating a little, his loose t-shirt clinging to his shoulders.

"Yeah," she said, looking at the wall. "It's got potential."

Bruce snorted. "I know that look. You're gonna try and make me paint it some awful colour."

Selina gave him a pointed look. "I'm going to let Dick and Jason decide."

"Right," Bruce said, with a half a laugh, and Selina elbowed him. Except, instead of laughing, Bruce swore and gripped the wall. His shirt was riding up a little, and Selina could see the edge of a bandage.  

She frowned, pushing his T-shirt up. The bandage was wrapped all along his midsection. "Jesus, what happened?" she asked.

"I fell," Bruce said, "one of my investors wanted to go rock climbing. It was some stupid thing, Selina. Don't worry about it."

"That's a nasty bruise," She said, pulling up one edge of the bandage. "How far did you fall?"

Bruce smiled tightly. "Far enough," he said. "I told you, it was just some stupid thing."

Then he grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her so that all his disgusting sweat was all over her. She was laughing and batting at his hands, and he was trying to put his gross sweaty palms near her face, and soon she forgot all about the bruise.  

She went to the bathroom after that, to change into a fresh shirt before making dinner, when she saw that Jason's red hoodie, all covered in sawdust and sweat, was now lying in one corner of the bathroom. Far from the hamper, but still. It made her smile.

The tacos they made that day were the best tacos she'd ever eaten.

 

*

 

She finally saw Batman almost a week later, while scoping out a penthouse by the Gotham river. It was raining hard, practically pouring down on them, and she was almost half-frozen. Only in Gotham would it rain in fucking October.

She was perched on the ledge of the nearby terrace, looking through the window of the penthouse with binoculars, when she heard him.

"Cat," he said, and she nearly fell off the roof.

"Jesus," she hissed, "did you _have_ to do that?"

"I heard someone wants you dead," he said.

"Yeah, hello to you too. I haven't seen you in nearly two months, and that's how you start a conversation?"

Batman looked grim. "I was under the impression that this was urgent."

She sighed. "It is," she said, setting her binoculars down. She hesitated, then handed him something from her pouch.

Batman took it. It was the bullet, gleaming in the moonlight. It had her name on, carved in crude letters.

"That's a mafia move," Batman said. Selina nodded.

"I thought the Irish, because I stole that diamond ring. But it could also be the Italians. Remember Zucco?"

Batman was still studying it. "I may be able to track it. This was in Venice?"

Selina nodded. "Probably the Italians, right?"

"It's likely," Batman said. The rain poured down on them ruthlessly, and Selina had to take her goggles off to see him better.

For some reason, she remembered that dream she'd had, with Maggie switching the channels on the TV.

"what would you do if you got injured in the field?" she asked suddenly, "if you were unconscious, or you needed medical help urgently. Would you let the cops take you to some hospital and unmask you?"

Batman look at her sharply. "Why do you want to know?"

Selina grinned. "Easy there, Bat. I'm just curious."

Batman was silent for a while. "It's never happened before. It _will_ never happen."

"But what if it does?" Selina asked. She was really wondering out loud at this point. "Would you trust the doctors to keep your identity a secret? They'd probably _have_ to tell the police. And they might tell their wives. Or husbands. Or kids. And then everyone would know."

There was a flash of lightning, followed by the rumbling of thunder.

Batman looked at her for a moment, like he couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "It wouldn't happen," he said. "And the Batmobile is programmed to drive me back to my base if my vitals ever drop."

Selina whistled. "Fancy car. Sounds nice."

Batman dropped the bullet into an evidence bag, and tucked the bag away into one of the pouches in his belt. "I'll find you when I track down the provenance of the bullet," he looked up at the skies, droplets of water falling on the patch of exposed skin on his face, "Storm's coming. You better go home, Selina."

Out of sheer impulse, Selina gripped his gauntleted arm. "Listen," she said, her voice low, "I have a family now. I don't want to die, Bat."

Batman was looking at her through the flat, blank lenses of his cowl. He only tilted his head. Then he moved closer, his hand coming up to—

Selina moved back. "I uh," she paused, "this is going to sound so strange. I can't do… that. Anymore. I'm seeing someone, is what I mean."

Batman said nothing. The wind from the oncoming storm was in full force, making his cape gust around the both of them. He was waiting for her to continue.  

Selina looked down, at the cars and the people and swelling river. "I think I _love_ him," she said, her voice catching in the middle of the sentence.

When she looked back up, Batman had taken a step back. He looked like he'd been lanced through the chest.  

Selina shook her head. "I can't explain it," she said, crossing her arms to hug herself. "I didn't expect it to happen. I _never thought—"_

"It's not a problem," Batman said, his voice emotionless through the cloaking technology. The winds were so strong that the rain was almost horizontal now,

"I'm sorry," She whispered. She was still hugging herself.

Batman shook his head. "I have to go," he rasped. He jumped off the edge of the terrace.  

And then he was gone.

 

*

 

When she finally reached home after scoping out the place, it was the middle of the night. The storm was in full force, so much so that she was barely able to grapple up to her window, and slide it open.

Bruce was there, sitting on the couch, in the dark. He was sopping wet, and the cats were licking at a puddle next to his feet. He looked at her.

"I let myself in," He said. His voice was doing that strange rasping thing again. "We need to talk."

Selina slid the window shut.

Bruce was looking at his hands. His hair was soaked in the rain. He couldn't have come here too long ago. "There's something I have to tell you," he said. He looked devastated. "I should have told you earlier. I'm not— I was _scared_. Scared that you'd–"

Selina held up a hand. "Do you smell that?" she said.  

Bruce paused. "What?"

Selina went to the kitchen, peering into the oven. "It's burnt cheese."

Bruce stood up. "Selina, I really need to tell you—"

Selina walked back outside. "Where's Jason?" she asked, her voice a tight thread.

"Aren't they both asleep?" Bruce said.

"Did you check on them when you came in?" Selina scanned her surroundings, and she could see it now that she was paying attention. The tell-tale signs of a silent conflict, the scratches on the wall, the small patch of fabric on the kitchen counter, where a T-shirt had been caught on something. There was a burnt pizza in the oven. 

"He was trying to make me dinner," Selina said, her mouth feeling dry, "for when I came home."

Bruce was seeing it too. He walked to the other room, flinging the door open. "He's not in here," She heard him say.  

Selina slid down onto the sofa.

"Maybe he ran away again," he said. He was checking the other bedroom. The bathrooms.

Selina was shaking her head. He wouldn't have. Not now. 

It was like she was underwater. She was just sitting there, while Bruce was doing everything. He was saying things to her, walking around the house and looking at things and dialling a number on the phone and waking Dick up.

She saw Dick walk to her, looking confused. He was saying something, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. She closed her eyes, centering herself. She needed to be present. She needed to fix this. She looked at the face of her little boy, and suddenly the whole world was back in focus.

"I found this under my pillow," Dick said, his voice thin,"where's Jay?"

Selina looked at his open palm. In it was a bullet, gleaming silver under the harsh lights that Bruce had flicked on.

It had her name on it.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late by a day! The thing about these chapters is that I try to write every single one like it's own self contained story, which means all of the chapters turn out to be... super long and time consuming to write, lol.  
> Anyway, see ya next week!


	4. Superpowers

When Bruce opened the door to the stash house, there was only silence. Then he heard a sound, like water dripping down onto a cement floor. 

_ Drip. Drip. Drip.  _

He ventured further slowly, turning a batarang over in his hand. The cool, metallic strength of it gave him comfort. That, and the knowledge that he could throw it from a hundred feet away and still hit his target. 

It gave him a great deal of comfort. 

 

 

That night after Jason had been kidnapped, Bruce had sat in front of the consoles in the batcave, hunched over the monitors. He'd been going through hours and hours of surveillance footage, until his vision had started to swim, and the timestamps were beginning to float worryingly at the corner of his vision. 

A tray full of empty coffee cups sat on the table near him, and he picked the closest one up to take a sip. It was empty. He frowned, setting it back down. 

He'd been trawling through the footage near and around the streets of Selina's apartment block, coming up with surprisingly little. A man in a dark hoodie had crept up her fireplace and snuck out with a large duffel bag, in a space of maybe fifteen minutes before Bruce had done nearly the same thing.  

Bruce didn't want to think about what was in the duffel bag.  

He'd tried to track the bullet down in his ballistics database, to no success. It was unmarked, and other than the fact that it was a .44 caliber bullet, he knew nothing about it.  

"It's Viti and his people," Selina had said, while they were tearing the apartment apart looking for clues. Her voice had been uncharacteristically thin. "It has to be them. They know who I am, where I lived. They must know that I helped Batman take down Zucco."

Then she had sat down on her bed, and put her head in her hands. 

"I did this to him," She'd said. 

Bruce shook his head. "No, you didn't."

Selina only looked up at him. "Yeah? Who else, Bruce?"

Bruce was silent. 

"I have to tell Batman,"Selina said. She was wiping her face. She looked so tired. Bruce wanted to— he wanted to— he didn't know what he wanted. To take her in his arms, maybe. To tell her everything was going to be okay. Instead, he watched her, waiting for what she'd do next. 

"I have to tell him," she said, dully. 

 

 

The stash house was a large building, full of narrow corridors and small rooms, where narcotics were repackaged after being unloaded from ships. There was a lab concerned with testing for purity and contamination, and the office, where all the books were kept. The books were all clean, of course, with records full of fishing revenue and meat packaging and cargo taxes, but everyone knew the truth. The GCPD had raided the place three times, and come up with nothing. The labs were always empty, the books always clean. There were always dirty cops willing to look the other way for the right price. 

Upstairs was the large break room where the men played poker and ate cheap takeout and watched skin flicks. There were six windows upstairs, none downstairs. Bruce had staked the place out before, when he'd first back to Gotham. Things hadn't changed much since then. 

One exit. One entrance. The narrow, claustrophobic tunnels made for several choke points. That was the way they wanted it, if they were ever attacked. The stash house could essentially work as a fort, locked down to become a defensive barricade against potential attackers. It made him wary. He clenched the batarang tighter in his fist. 

Walking through the narrow, poorly lit hallway, something made him pause in his tracks. He tilted his head, concentrated. It was that sound again, of water running. 

_ Drip. Drip. Drip.  _

He ran his hand against the wall. His hand came back dry. Not the damp from the rains, then. Maybe it was a pipe upstairs, or a broken air conditioner. Maybe not. 

He started walking again, checking every room and every nook. There was no one in sight. He could hear a TV in the distance, presumably from the break room upstairs. There was someone there, then. There were people. 

 

Selina had called him up that night, on the burner cell that he'd given her as Batman, a few years ago. She'd never used the number before. 

"Something happened," she had said, her voice barely audible.  

Bruce held the phone to his ear, standing in the batcave. He'd told her he had to go, that maybe he knew someone who could help her, and he'd been cryptic enough that she'd only been confused that he was leaving her at this time.  _ Hurt _ , was the word. She'd been hurt. 

He closed his eyes. It was killing him, keeping this thing from her. "What is it?" he said, knowing that the modulator on the phone would scramble his voice. 

"My– um, a boy I've been looking after for a couple of weeks. Someone took him. They left another bullet. It's exactly the same."

"I see," Bruce said, slowly. He could hear the little spurts of static around his voice, the little distortions in the audio. He hated how he sounded. It was almost… inhuman. 

"It was under Dick's pillow," Selina said, and then he heard a sudden sound, like a wet gasp. 

Selina was  _ crying.  _

She hasn't cried in front of Bruce. Hadn't allowed herself to break. She was supposed to be the strong one, of the two of them. But with Batman, their dynamic was different. He was supposed to take care of her. To be there for her. And he had failed in his one job. 

"I'm sorry," She was saying, her voice steadier now. Her voice was still small. "I haven't been sent a ransom note yet. Please let me know if you have any leads on that bullet. It would help a lot." 

Then the line had gone dead.

It had been seven hours after Jason had been kidnapped that Bruce got any form of a lead. He'd been going through the footage over and over again. The man in the dark hoodie climbing out of the fire escape with a duffel bag.  

Then something caught his eye. 

He replayed the video, and paused it at a certain frame. Enhanced the image.  

There, onscreen, was proof. The man's hoodie had ridden up on his wrist to reveal the edge of a tattoo. Bruce leaned closer to the screen, his brow furrowed. It was an ouroboros, its body curled around a four leaf clover.  

Bruce leaned back. It wasn't Don Viti,  it was the  _ Irish  _ that had taken Jason.  

Just then his phone started to ring.  _ His _ phone, not the burner cell. It was Selina. 

"Any news?" he asked.  

"I got a call, Bruce," she said. It was hard to tell from her voice what that meant. "It was Jason. He said to come to one of the Italian stash houses on dock 15. Didn't ask to bring any money.  He said that Don Viti told him to extend his greetings. He didn't sound like himself," a long pause, "I think they're hurting him."

"It's a trap," Bruce said. _It's the Irish, he wanted to say_. But Bruce Wayne wouldn't know that.  

I know, Bruce, Selina said. She sounded weary. "What am I supposed to do? Not go? I have to, if there's a chance that he's there."

"Don't go," Bruce said, his voice low. " _Please_ , Selina."

"I have to," she said. "I tried calling Batman. He won't answer. It's just me now. I–, " she paused. "I had a really good time with you, Bruce. If anything goes wrong, I know you'll take care of Dick."

"Selina," Bruce said into the phone. "Don't go."

"Bye, Bruce," she said. And she hung up. 

Bruce looked up at the roof of the batcave, at the stalactites hanging off the cavernous ceiling. His phone was still plastered to his ear. A single drop of water fell from the stalactites, onto his face. 

_ Drip.  _

 

Presently, he reached a door that looked different from the others. It was made of steel, and looked like it was pressure locked. It had a rectangular glass panel at the top, and through it Bruce could see that there were rows of worktables, and burners and vials and vats of something swirling inside them. Men in full-body white protective gear were walking around the vats, checking dials and timers and making notes.  

This was the lab, then.

He saw three armed guards walking through the aisles, guns strapped to their backs. They were talking to the men in the white suits, nodding and chatting occasionally.  

There were no other exits, save the one that he was looking through.

He walked on. The dripping sound became louder and louder as he walked forward, until he reached a set of stairs.  

That was when he heard the screams. 

It was a woman's scream, loud and desperate, and it was coming from upstairs. 

_ Selina _ , he thought. 

He broke into a run, taking the steps two at a time. There was an icy dagger lodged in his chest, growing larger and larger by the second. The screams wouldn't stop. 

When he was upstairs he flung open the first door he saw, and there were Selina and Jason, and someone was forcing Jason's head down into a pool of water and Selina was kicking at the man who was holding her back, still screaming at him. Bruce felt a piercing pain in his side, and when he looked down he saw that there was a knife sticking out of his armour, between its plates. 

The man who'd stabbed him was reaching for his gun, but Bruce pinned him against the wall, and stuck the batarang he'd been holding into the man's shoulder. The man screamed. Bruce punched him hard enough that he stopped, and slumped down onto the floor. 

When Bruce turned back around, the man who'd been holding Jason under the water was approaching him, his fists raised. Bruce took a quick breath and pulled the knife out of his side swiftly, and lunged at him. It came naturally to him after all these years, the art of knife fighting. He remembered cold days in Tibet, training with Ra's.  _ There is no art in slashing wildly _ , Ra's would say.  _ You must remain calm. Eliminate all fear, for fear turns into panic, and panic into stupidity, and stupidity into Death.  _

But Bruce was afraid now. Afraid, even as he feinted to the left and switched his knife hand to lunge to the right, grazing his opponent's arm. The man cried out, surprised, and Bruce could see that his eyes were dilated. He was high. 

Bruce grabbed his injured arm and pressed down hard, hoping that the pain would slow him down. He twisted him and shoved him into the wall, and the man stumbled, walking away slowly. He looked at Bruce, and spat out a tooth. 

"Come at me, Batman," he grinned. There was blood in his mouth. He beckoned Bruce forward with an outstretched arm, "Let's dance." 

Bruce lifted his knife again, about to lunge, but the man fell, swearing. Jason had crept up from behind him, kicked out his shin from under him. Bruce pinned the man to the floor before he had a chance to get up, grabbing him by his throat and holding him there. Then he took his tranquilizer gun from his belt and shot a dart into his neck. 

The man slumped down, his muscles relaxing. 

He turned to see that Selina had come out on top of the fight she'd been in, except she was holding her left arm close to her body. She was breathing hard, wide-eyed. Jason ran over to her, plastering himself against her side. 

"We need to go, there's something you don't—"

"It's an ambush," Selina said, "they were talking, Bruce, before I tried to sneak up on them. I heard them say–"

_ Drip. Drip. Drip _ , he heard. He tilted his head again, listening for it. That sound. It wasn't water at all. It was getting hard to think. He wondered why. He felt so tired. So tired. Maybe if he closed his eyes for a second. 

"We walked into a trap, Batman. Did you hear me? It's a _trap_! They were all in it together. They knew we'd come for him, _both_ the gangs. The Italians wanted to do it in  _ their _ stashhouse, to kill us off once and for all, but the Irish want to get rid of us  _ and  _ their competition. Are you listening?"

_ Drip. Drip. Drip.  _

Bruce looked down at his side. There was a puddle of blood on the floor. It seemed to be coming from where the knife had been. He sat down. Or perhaps he fell.

"Batman," Selina hissed, shaking his shoulders. 

"Do you smell that?" Jason said, suddenly. 

All of a sudden Bruce knew what was going on.

"It smells like gasoline," Jason said. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

"Run!" Bruce yelled, and then the whole place exploded, and they were thrown back in a wave of fire, red and yellow fangs licking up and down the edges of Bruce's vision. And then it was blindingly dark. 

 

*

 

That day when Selina had called him over to fix the tap in their kitchen, he'd been sitting on the floor below the sink, trying to fix a leak, when he noticed that Jason was watching him from the table.  

Bruce looked over at him. Dick was still away at gymnastics class or after school track meets or whatever he was doing, and Selina had gone to meet a dealer about some gemstones she wanted to put out on the market. 

That left the two of them alone. 

Bruce knew that Jason felt uncomfortable around him. He thought of how he looked, a six foot two inch tall man weighing two hundred pounds. And smiling did not come to him naturally. He had to say something non-threatening, something to put the boy at ease. 

"Pass me the 10 inch wrench, please," he said.  

Jason looked at him like he was half sure that Bruce was about to murder him. 

Bruce sighed. He looked back at the pipes. This was hopeless.  

He got out from under the sink, wiping his hands with a cloth. There were grease stains all over his t-shirt. It really said something about Gotham's real estate prices, that a woman who carried out high-calibre heists for a living couldn't afford more than a fifth floor walk up with a shitty sink. 

"You're giving up?" Jason asked. He was still watching Bruce warily. 

Bruce looked at him. "No, I'm just taking a break," he said. 

"You're stuck," Jason said. 

Bruce blinked. "Momentarily."

Jason smiled the tiniest smile. "You have no idea what to do." 

Bruce walked over to the fridge, taking out a carton of milk. He sniffed it. "I… am not a plumber." 

"No, I guess you're just a CEO," Jason said. His smile was broader now. Well. If making fun of him made Jason more comfortable… Bruce was fine with that. 

"Owner, actually. I'm the chairman of the board. Lucius Fox is the CEO."

Jason shook his head. "So you're even richer than the CEO." He looked like he disapproved. 

"Yes," Bruce said. 

Jason leaned forward, looking at him curiously. "You could just hire someone to fix the sink. Or buy her a new house."

Bruce took a sip of milk directly from the carton. It didn't _ taste _ spoiled. "I tried," he said. "She said no." 

He took a mug from the cupboard. It was chipped, and the handle was broken, but it said 'Cat Lady' on it. Probably a present from Dick. It made him smile. 

"Milk?" he asked Jason, pouring out the carton into the mug. 

Jason crossed his arms, shaking his head. "So what's your deal?" he said. 

"The deal with what?" Bruce said. He slid the mug over to Jason. "Have it. Calcium is good for you, especially at this age."

Jason made a face. "The deal with how come you're slumming it with us when you could be running around your mansion making out with supermodels and riding dolphins in your swimming pool?"

Bruce paused midway through pouring himself a glass of milk. "I don't own any dolphins. That's animal cruelty." 

Jason glared at him. 

Bruce sighed, scrubbing at his face. He looked at the broken sink. "There's no one I've met like her," he said, "or Dick. I'm fixing the sink and painting the house because it's the only thing I can think of to repay them for what they've done for me. That good enough for you?"

Jason tilted his head, just watching him. After a while he took a sip from his mug, holding it with both hands. 

"Maybe," he said.

Bruce shook his head, crouching underneath the sink again. Maybe if he checked the main guage he could figure out why the pressure was off. 

"Do you want to know a secret?"Jason said. 

Bruce looked at him. " What?"

"I have secret powers."

Bruce cleared his throat in an effort not to laugh. "Do you," he said.  

Jason nodded solemnly. "I have abilities. Like Superman, you know?" He came around the counter, shooting on the floor, next to Bruce. 

"Really," Bruce said, scanning the plumbing joints in front of him, squinting, "what are they?"

Jason leaned forward a little further, so that his head was almost up against Bruce's. "I can make people go away," he whispered. 

Bruce looked at him. "What do you mean?" he asked. 

Jason shrugged, leaning back. "I sent my dad away. I didn't _ mean  _ to do it, but I secretly wanted him gone." he said.  

Bruce felt his amusement fade. "Jason, that's not–" 

"It's not something I'm _ sad _ about," Jason said. "It's just something I can do. I made my mom's boyfriend go away, too. He was her dealer. This was after Dad died."

"What did you do?" Bruce asked, curious. 

"I put vaseline in his shampoo. And on the tips of all his ballpoint pens. And I might have pissed in his laundry."

Bruce looked at him. Then he started to laugh. 

It was a belly laugh, deep and loud, and it made his shoulder shake. 

Jason grinned, innocently sipping more of his milk. "He left in two weeks," he said. 

Bruce held up a hand, unable to talk. "Jesus Christ. Maybe I should tell Selina to start double checking the laundry."

"Not happening," Jason said. He stood up, walking over to Bruce's tool kit. He reached into it, and dropped something into Bruce's hand.

"Here's your wrench," he said, and he smiled at Bruce, but only a little bit.  

 

*

 

When Bruce woke up it was because of a persistent tugging on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, and turned his head. Jason slowly came into focus. He was saying something. No, he was yelling. He was still pulling on Bruce's cape. 

Bruce stared at him. And his memories slowly started to come back.  

When he looked around them again, they were inside a room that was on fire. The stash house. Selina lay slumped in a corner, a few feet from them. There was a slow trickle of blood coming from her mouth. 

"We need to get out of here!" he heard Jason say faintly, over the loud, high-pitched ringing in his ears. "The walls are gonna collapse. Bruce.  _ Bruce!"  _

Bruce looked at him. There were sounds of smaller explosions, from downstairs. Presumably the vats of chemically cooked drugs that Don Viti was manufacturing. The fire had reached the labs, then. 

"Bruce!" Jason said, shaking at his shoulders again. " _ Bruce!"  _ His voice sounded louder now. Clearer.  

The fog in his brain was beginning to dissipate as well; well enough to know that they were in deep trouble.  

Bruce turned over to his side, and instantly a tremendous wave of pain went through the entire left side of his body, like a large meat cleaver was steadily slicing through him. 

"Hnn," he said, swallowing, "can you walk."

Jason was nodding rapidly. "I sprained my leg, but I think–"

Bruce looked at Jason's leg. He was sitting on the floor next to Bruce, but it was clear enough that it was twisted at an awkward angle. 

"That's not sprained," Bruce managed to get out. He tried to get up again, but the pain nearly had him paralysed. He's landed on his wounded side, and maybe he'd broken something. It was hard to tell. 

Jason was silent, save his shaky breaths. It was starting to get hot inside the room. There was a thunderous crash from downstairs. Jason flinched. 

"Are we going to die," Jason said, and now Bruce could hear him perfectly, even though Jason's voice was very quiet. 

Bruce turned his head to look at him. Selina was still lying curled up in a heap next to them, like a ragdoll. He tried to reach for her, but he couldn't move, and she was too far away. 

"You could still try to run," Bruce rasped, and Jason's face began to crumple. 

"I'm not going _anywhere_ without the two of you," Jason said. His shoulders were shaking. 

Bruce raised a hand to Jason's cheek. His fingertips came back wet. 

"This is all _my fault_ ," Jason said, sniffling, "if you two hadn't come looking for me, none of this would have happened." 

"I'd have done it again," Bruce croaked, "and you know she would have."

Jason crawled over to Selina, dragging her by her hand towards them. Once she was close enough, Bruce pulled her towards him by her shoulders. Selina's eyes were closed, her face serene. She looked like a painting. Bruce would never be able to see her eyes again. Or make her laugh. Or see Ace drool all over her, and piss her off. He took her hand in his, and watched the flames engulf the walls around them. 

Jason lay down between them. He was still crying. It reminded Bruce of another night, of another time. Another life. He closed his eyes. 

"Go," he said. "You need to run. You could still make it."

Jason had burrowed his head into Bruce's shoulder. He was shaking his head.  

"Jason,  _ go,"  _ Bruce snapped.  

"Shut up, Bruce, _"_ Jason said, except he was still crying. 

Bruce froze. "What did you say?" he said.  

"I said for you to  _ shut up!  _ I'm not going  _ anywhere,  _ not—"

"You called me Bruce," Bruce said.  

Jason looked up at him, his face tear-streaked and red. "Your cowl's all torn. You were having trouble breathing. I took it off."

Bruce felt his face with his hands. It was bare skin. 

"I always knew something was up with you," Jason said. He was glaring at him. "But you hid it really well. You're Batman, aren't you? You can do anything."

Bruce looked at Jason, his eyes wide. 

"Remember how you said Selina saved you? It's your turn to save us, you  _ stupid dork _ . Dick's still waiting at home. He can't have a  _ second _ set of parents die on him."

Jason was right. 

"I'm Batman," he breathed. The smoke was starting to fill the room now. Jason coughed. Bruce tore off some of his cape, and tired it around Jason's mouth. Then he closed his eyes. He was an idiot. He hadn't been thinking. The _pool_. 

He rose slowly, probably making some awful animal noise and swearing up a blue streak. The pain flared up all across his side, nearly eviscerating him right there. He stood for a second, before his vision turned dangerously dark and he nearly stumbled. Jason stood up slowly, limping to give him a shoulder to lean on. 

"What're you doing?" he said, coughing. 

Bruce walked over to the shallow pool, limping and coughing, and detached his cape. It was probably a cooling water bath to put heated slabs of narcotics inside, but right now Bruce didn't give a shit. 

He dipped the cape into the pool, and then he picked Jason up. "I'm gonna dip you in this," he said. 

Jason looked at him, wide-eyed. "What?"

"Hold your breath." Bruce said, and he submerged Jason inside for a few seconds, until he was sure that every part of him had been wet. He splashed himself with the water too, metallic tasting and brackish as it was. 

Then he picked him back up, and walked over to Selina, draping the wet cape around her. He picked her up too, even though all his muscles screamed in protest at it. His ribs were definitely broken, and he was still losing blood at an alarming rate from the knife wound. 

Try not to breathe in," he said to Jason, "There's smoke everywhere." 

Then he walked into the fire. 

 

*

 

He remembered getting them outside vaguely, and that Selina woke for a few seconds of it, her eyes wide and terrified, and he remembered Jason curling into his frame. He remembered dropping them both onto the grass outside the stash house, and sitting down and looking up at the smoke filled night sky, and not feeling any pain any more. He remembered smiling. 

After that he remembered nothing. 

 

*

 

When he woke up, he was in his bedroom, in the manor. 

His throat felt raw, and every other part of his body hurt, so he decided to close his eyes and go to sleep. He could feel a little body snuggle closer to him, and he pulled it closer, ruffling Dick's hair.  

Then his eyes shot open. 

"Morning, sleepyhead," Dick said, grinning a toothy smile. His head was on Bruce's bare stomach, and he was smiling up at him adoringly. There was a large stretch of bandages wrapped around his side and chest. 

"Alfred said you cracked _two_ ribs. And you got _stabbed_. And you're _Batman_!" Dick said, animatedly. Then his face took on a concerned expression. "You're not in _pain_ or anything now, right? He said that if he didn't take you off the meds quick you'd become immune." 

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His voice was gone. 

"Alfred said that can happen sometimes, with smoke inhalation," Dick said, helpfully, "you'll be okay in a few hours! He made you lemon tea. It's on the bedside table."

Bruce turned to look at the bedside table. There was a thermos there, with a post-it that said to ring on the intercom if he needed anything. Other than that, there was no one in the room. No indication that anybody had– that they had–

"Are," he rasped, clearing his throat, "are they–"

"Selina and Jay? They're okay. Jason's got a broken ankle though, and Selina had a concussion. But they're fine now, and they're watching TV. I asked if we could watch Gremlins again, but I think they're pretty strongly against that idea, considering we've see it already like, five times. So they're watching Coraline. Which is okay, but it's not Gremlins, you know?"

"Grem—lins?" Bruce managed to say. 

"Oh my gosh, you don't even know, do you! It's Halloween today! You've been asleep for like, _three_ days, Bruce. We've been staying here all this while because Selina was spooked because she kept thinking the Irish guys might find out that you guys are still alive. So anyway, we're not going trick or treating because of Jay's leg, but Selina went out and bought a ton of candy for us, so we're just sitting around and eating Reese's pieces and getting fat. Do you eat candy if you're Batman? Is that allowed? Are there any rules to being Batman and is not eating candy one of them?"

Bruce smiled. It seemed like Dick was really enjoying that Bruce was unable to speak, and that all he could do was listen.

He was about to try and say something, when someone knocked against the open door. 

"Could you give us a moment, Dick?" Selina said. She was leaning on the door jamb, watching him with a cool expression on her face. She had a black eye, and a stitched up gash on her right arm. 

Dick looked between the two of them. "Um, okay," he said, jumping off the bed. "I'm making Jason change the movie to Gremlins, though." He ran out of the room. 

Selina watched Bruce. She was quiet for so long that Bruce had started to wonder if she was going to say anything at all. 

"I know you can't really speak," she said, "so now's the time that you listen up, you douchebag."

Bruce blinked.  

"We're not breaking up. Not even close. I know you well enough to know that you did this out of some sense of stupid fucking honour and self-sacrifice, and that you probably thought that keeping me in the dark for eight months, _eight months_ , was the _right_ thing to do, you asshole. Except guess what, I was in danger _anyway._ It's my whole thing, Bruce, being in constant danger, because of the part where I'm a _criminal._ By the way, the sheer volume _hypocrisy_ of you, trying to arrest me by night and getting in my pants during the day. I can't believe you, Bruce. I can't _believe_ you lied about this. Of all things. I told you about my _drug addicted_ now deceased mother, and you couldn't tell me you dressed like a _bat in the night time?"_

There was a long pause. Selina stopped leaning against the door jamb. 

"Okay," she said, "I'm done. Let's go watch TV."

Bruce stared at her.

Selina shook her head. "I think a part of me always knew. No one gets bruises as often as you do, and definitely  _ not  _ by playing polo." 

Bruce thought of telling her that he'd never claimed to play polo, but reconsidered quickly. Perhaps not the wisest thing to say. 

"Sorry," he said, instead. 

Selina was scrubbing at her face. "Sorry," she muttered, "he says  _ sorry. _ "

"I  _ am _ sorry," Bruce said, "I don't know how else to say it. It's not easy for me to– to  _ say  _ things," he was determinedly studying the edge of the bed now, looking anywhere but at her, "I was going to tell you that night after you said… what you did. And I," he paused again, "I uh, I was going to tell you that I. I feel it too, what you were–"

"Oh my god," Selina said, "that's a whole lot of talking for someone whose throat's fucked up from smoke inhalation. I get it, you love me too. Let's just go watch TV. Dick's gonna try and make us watch Gremlins again and I have to try and stop it."

Bruce looked up at her. "Okay," he said.  

They went downstairs to the TV room where Jason and Dick were sprawled on the sofas like kings, bickering over the remote. When Jason saw him his face broke into a giant smile. 

"The Dark Knight comes out of his coma to stop Dick from watching gremlins!" he announced, launching himself at Bruce. Bruce laughed, ruffling Jason's hair. His leg was in a brace that had already had bats and pumpkins drawn crudely all over it. Dick's handiwork, most likely. Bruce set him down.  

"The  _ Dark Knight _ isn't supposed to be doing _ any  _ heavy lifting right now," Selina said, pushing Dick over to sit next to him. Except she was smiling. And she didn't tell Dick to change the movie back. And when Bruce sat down next to them, she put her hand in his. 

_ You love me too.  _

Bruce looked over at her. She was staring at the TV, but she gripped his hand tighter. 

"Okay, after this we're watching the sequel," Dick announced. Everyone groaned. 

Not Bruce though. He was happy. And there were no more smudges on the greenhouse glass. He smiled, tentatively. 

"I quite liked the sequel," he said. 

Selina sighed. 

  
  



End file.
